


Elusive Redemption

by User24601



Series: The Trials and Tribulations Series [2]
Category: Chicago Fire, Chicago Justice, Chicago Med, Chicago PD (TV), Law & Order: Criminal Intent, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Medical Procedures, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Police Procedural, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-02-15 01:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 51,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13020360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/User24601/pseuds/User24601
Summary: Part IIRobert Goren has endured 769 days of endless torment. Help is on it's way. But is it too little, too late?*Original Title of this work was simply Redemption*





	1. Intuition

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read Part I, turn back now. For those who have read the first part of the series, congratulations! That was a lot of reading and I'm so glad you've made it through. Now please bear with me as I try and guide you into this next phase. 
> 
> First, if you are unfamiliar with the Law & Order/Chicago franchises, never fear, I will do my best to write the story and explain who everyone is along the way. I have this very helpful [link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509358), where I briefly explain all the characters. Some characters are more important to the story than others. 
> 
> Second, I try to stay as true to the source material as possible. All of these shows exist in the same universe and had/have crossover episodes. This is not any sort of weird mashup or AU.
> 
> Third, these chapters are going to read more like a crime drama. Definitely a change of pace from the previous part.
> 
> Fourth, I'm sorry but there is going to be little to no smut in the following chapters. I lured you in with smut as bait but now I've got you hooked on the plot. *Author laughs maniacally*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

The sergeant in charge of the intelligence unit down at the 21st precinct was not a man you wanted to cross. Hank Voight had a reputation as a man who would get the result he wanted, no matter the cost. He was a good cop, but he was also the type of cop that would have no problem bending or breaking rules to see justice done. 

It was in the small hours of the morning and the sergeant was finally finishing up for the night. They had just wrapped up a high-ranking politician blackmail case. The kind of paperwork involved seemed like a never-ending barrage of form after form.   Exhausted, he walked down towards the back stairs on his way out. As he passed the holding cells/drunk tank, a voice called out to him. 

“Excuusse me, Offivcer!”

Backtracking a few steps, Voight turned to face the drunk man that had called out to him.

“Yes?” Hank asked, his gravely voice gruff with inconvenience, as he carefully eyed the tall blonde man. The man’s clothing was rumpled and Voight could smell the alcohol the emanated from him. 

“Imma need a phone call. Pleassse? It’ss important,” said the blonde man.

“Sorry pal. Nothing I can do about that,” Voight responded. “You’ll get your phone call in the morning. Just sit tight and sober up.” 

The man grumbled something under his breath, but Voight didn’t hear any of it, his back already turned as he headed out the door. A few seconds later, Hank was breathing in the warm summer night air, as he headed to his car. Upon reaching his vehicle, Hank fumbled with his keys, a tight feeling in his gut distracting him. Opening the door, and taking a seat, the sergeant put the keys in the ignition but did not turn on the engine. The underlining sense of dread and foreboding, that had started when he had heard the man’s voice was preventing him from leaving.

“Fuck it,” Hank said to no one in particular, as he climbed out of the car and headed back inside. 

Avoiding the holding cell, Hank wound his way around to the front desk were he retrieved the log from the deputy on duty. Scanning the entries, Hank found the one he was looking for: At 1:22 a.m. on June 28, 2014, officer was dispatched to Woodlawn Avenue regarding a drunk driver. Dean Kipling (DOB 7-15-1957) was pulled over and blew a blood alcohol level reading of 0.17%. Suspect was arrested for DUI (driving under the influence).

“You know anything about this Dean Kipling in the holding cell,” Voight asked the deputy.

“Not really,” replied the deputy, “just that he is drunk and keeps asking for his phone call. And something about a broken something back at his house.”

“He give you the creeps?”

The deputy leaned forward and said in a whisper, “Yeah, can’t put my finger on it though.”

***

A black Cadillac Escalade pulled up outside a small house with a white picket fence. Sergeant Voight glanced down at his phone to make sure he had the right address. A few minutes later, Detective Alvin Olinsky pulled up alongside and rolled down the window to speak with his commanding officer.

“Hey,” Olinsky said as he nodded his head towards the house, “this the place?”

“It would seem so,” Voight replied. “Go and park down the street a bit and meet me round back.”

Olinsky and Voight were cut from the same cloth, both experienced police. But where Voight was tight-jawed and clean cut, Olinsky was grizzled and woolly. He could usually be seen sporting a flat cap and a handlebar mustache. So, when he got the call from his long-time friend and boss, he simply rolled out of bed and got his ass over to the location.

“You get someone to make that 911 call?” Voight asked as he approached.

“Yeah,” the detective replied. “Got one of my CIs to call in possible gunshot from this location.”

“Good,” said Hank as he pulled out Kipling’s keys, that he had swiped from the evidence locker, “that gives us probable cause to enter. Can’t be too careful these days. Here’s  hoping we don’t find anything and we can just go home, no one the wiser.”

Unlocking the back door, the two men stepped into the home. Pulling out their flashlights, they did a quick sweep of the place. Voight went right, checking out the kitchen, dining room, and master suite. Olinsky went left, searching the coat closet, laundry room, and bathroom. The detective was in the living room, looking at the bookshelves when Hank met back up with him.

“Nothing unusual, as far as I can see,” Hank said. “Think he lives alone?”

“What size was the bed?” asked Olinsky in his usual monotone.

“King. Why do you ask?”

“Because he has a partner,” Olinsky replied as he held up a framed picture of Kipling with another dark-haired man.

“Oh,” Hank said. “That kind of partner. Well then, that makes sense why there were two sinks in the master bath.”

“There’s something else you should see,” Olinsky stated as he lead the way out of the living room and down the hallway. Alvin stopped in front of the closet door, opening it up, and shined his light down at a plush toy penguin.

“That’s odd,” Voight said. “Why would two grown men have an entirely empty closet except for one stuffed animal?”

“You think that’s odd? I think this closet has been soundproofed.”

“Really,” Hank said as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The darkness enveloped him and quickly turning around, he reached for the nonexistent door handle to push it back open. Raising his voice, Voight called out for Olinsky to open the door. Nothing happened, and Hank pounded his fist against the frame. Olinsky’s bewildered faced greeted him a second later.

“Took you long enough,” Hank grumbled.

“Well, looks like I was right about it being soundproof,” said Olinsky. “And there’s one last thing.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s an empty space behind this wall. The laundry room on the other side doesn’t come completely over this way.”

“Staircase,” was Hank’s reply, “there must be a staircase. I didn’t see any basement windows, but there was a foundation, it would make sense for there to be a basement.”

It only took them a few moments to discover the heavily locked door behind the coats, hats, and scarves hanging in the coat closet.

“This thing is a beast,” observed Olinsky. “You got the keys still?”

“They’re right here,” Voight said as he grappled with them. Trying the different keys until he found a match. 

“Hank,” Olinsky said suddenly, “there’s a keypad here too. We’re not getting in without some sort of code.”

Sighing in frustration, Voight dropped the keys. “Whatever is behind this door, it can’t be good.” Silence filled the air as both men contemplated the possibilities of what a heavily fortified door, in an inauspicious looking house, could possibly be hiding. 

“Well,” Hank said at last, “let’s give squad a call and have them come crack open this door.”

“Sure thing boss,” replied Olinsky.

“And Al, see if they can remain as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing we need is to attract attention and have one of the neighbors give the other guy a heads up before we even know what’s going on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Dean Kipling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510054)  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Alvin Olinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511029)


	2. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help has arrived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

The alarm blares and the overhead speakers crackled as the robotic-like monotone voice comes over the intercom, “SQUAD 3. POLICE ASSIST. 19th AND WOOD.”

Lieutenant Kelly Severide rolls out of bed and is already on his feet and headed quickly towards the apparatus bay before the announcement is concluded. His men are only a second behind him as they all climb into their gear and board the fully equipped squad truck. Once everyone is in, Severide exclaims, “Let’s roll out.” With the squeal of tires, a singular ‘woop’ of the siren, and the flash of lights, the truck lurches out into the still darkness of early morning. 

A block or so away from their destination, Lieutenant Severide sees Detective Olinsky waving them down. The squad truck rolls up next to him and Severide jumps out to confer with the other man.

“What’s the situation?” Severide asks.

“We got a 911 call about possible shots fired from inside a residence,” Olinsky replied. “Due to the exigent circumstances, we entered the residence and there is the possibility of a person or persons who’s safety is at risk. Problem is, there is a steel enforced security door blocking our ability to finalize our search of the property.”

“Then why bother stopping us before we get on location?”

“We have one suspect in custody but the other is in the wind. Voight doesn’t want the presence of police or the fire department to alert of any neighbors who would then tip off our missing suspect.”

“Stealth mode it is then,”Severide replied before calling out to his crew. “Park here. Cruz, Capp, grab the hydraulics and the saw, you’re with me.”

The three heavily geared men then followed Olinsky as he led them between houses and down a tight alleyway to the back door of the residence, where Voight was waiting. Severide noticed the door hadn’t been knocked down, which was unusual for an exigent circumstances entry. But since he was dealing with the intelligence unit, he knew better than to question it and wisely kept his mouth shut. There wasn’t much room for the three men and their gear in the small coat closet, but they squeezed in and assessed the situation.

After inspecting the door, Severide said, “Capp, go back out and cut off the power for the house. Cruz, get those hydraulics ready to go.”

“How are you guys planning on getting in?” Voight asked as he poked his head from around the corner.

“Simple enough,” replied Severide, “we’re just going to cut off the hinges.”

Voight studied the heavy duty steel hinges that joined the door to the frame. Tough as they might be, they were no match for the _Jaws of Life_. 

The dimly glowing numbers of the keypad went dark and a moment later Capp came back in announcing the power was off, flipping the light switch on and off a few times to illustrate his point. Then Severide and Cruz lifted the heavy hydraulic shears as they positioned the blades around the top hinge. A loud and low whine emanated from the contraption followed by a quick and loud snap as the first hinge fell to the floor with a clunk.

Olinsky stood outside, keeping watch, praying that the noises from inside would not wake the neighborhood.

Two more thunks and the screeching of metal as they pulled off the door, echoed through the small room and down the hallway. Voight stepped through the now empty doorway, his flashlight issuing a wide and direct beam of light down the wooden steps before him. 

“Chicago Police Department, call out,” the sergeant said as he slowly walked down the stairs, followed closely by Olinsky who had come back inside. To his left were a drain, hose, and metal table. There was an open space off to his right and what looked like a thin blanket covering a lumpy object. Further back was a door that led into other room. Motioning to Olinsky behind him to go and check the other room, Hank made his way over to the covered object.

A chain was bolted to the floor but it too was partially covered by the thin blanket. Kneeling down to inspect the object, Hank heard Olinsky rattle the door handle of what was clearly a locked door. Carefully grabbing the edge of the blanket, he drew it back. Olinsky was saying something, but Voight wasn’t listening. Every fiber of his being was fixated on the figure in front of him.

Small, bruised, bloody, broken, these were the thought that rattled around in Hank’s mind as his eyes swept over the nearly naked figure. Reaching down, Voight placed his fingers on the man’s neck, feeling for the carotid artery. The skin underneath his fingers was cool to the touch. Unconsciously, he took in a deep breath and held it, steadying his hand as he felt for a pulse. The air that he had gulped in smelled and tasted not only of blood but of sweat and pain and other bodily fluids, not to mention the musty damp smell of a cold and desolate cellar. 

“Holy Mother of God,” Alvin quietly remarked as he approached Hank and the deathly still form. Those words, which he would typically mutter in vain blasphemy, we instead a four worded desperate prayer. “Is he dead?”

“No, just unconscious” Hank breathed as the air he had been holding in his lungs rushed out. “Have the guys upstairs bring down the bolt cutters and radio for a bus.”

When Severide saw Olinsky coming quickly up the stairs, he questioned him, saying, “You guys find your gunshot victim?”

“Worse,” was Olinsky’s reply. “Can you radio for a bus?”

“Sure thing,” Severide said. Then turning his head slightly, and pressing the button on the side he spoke into his radio, “Dispatch this is Squad 3 requesting a bus to our location.”

“Copy that Squad 3,” came the static reply.

“One of you got a bolt cutter,” Olinsky asked. 

“I do,” Cruz said as he held up the hefty implement.

“Good,” replied Olinsky, “we need it. Follow me.”

Olinsky came back down the stairs, followed closely by Cruz and Severide a few steps behind him. Voight glanced away from the victim, who he had partially covered back up with the blanket, as they walked down the creaking steps. 

“Over on the right,” Voight said as he nodded his head in the direction of the bolted chain.

Cruz made the sign of the cross when he saw the man on the floor, despite the heavy tool he was carrying. Severide stopped in his tracks, completely taken aback by the view before him. Olinsky had started pacing around the basement, shining his light, looking around but not actually paying attention to anything he saw. And Voight, he had placed his hand on the unconscious man’s chest as if to transfer some warmth and sense that help was on its way. Hank could just barely feel the man’s heart steadily but slowly beat below the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Alvin Olinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511029)  
>  [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
>  [Kelly Severide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519651)  
>  [Joe Cruz](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519681)  
>  [Harold Capp](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519741)


	3. Aesculapian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Medical Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you get confused, I highly recommend visiting this [link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409?view_full_work=true) for complete index of all the characters. 
> 
> Additionally, you can see the end notes for Character List and the links to each character's profile.

“Severide,” Gabby called out to the Lieutenant of Squad 3 as she and her paramedic partner, Sylvie Brett, pulled up behind squad’s truck. “Where’s the victim?”

“Dawson,” said Severide, “I’m glad you’re here. One of the men responsible is still out there, so Voight wanted to keep things as quiet as possible. Grab your gear and you and Brett can follow me.”

“Voight’s here?” Gabby asked suspiciously. Sure the guy was her brother’s boss, but that didn’t mean she had to like him. Especially since Voight tried to strong arm her boyfriend into falsifying a DUI accident report a few years back. Still, she had to admit the man’s moxie was admirable. 

“Yeah, he and Olinsky were investigating a shots fired call when they came across the victim,” Severide said as he led the women to the house.

“Shouldn’t we hurry then,” interrupted Sylvie, “if our victim has been shot.”

“He hasn’t been shot,” replied Severide morosely. 

“So let me get this straight,” said Gabby, “we are responding to a shots fired call, but no one’s been shot.”

Severide merely shook his head and said, “You’ll see in a minute.”

Leading the paramedics into the house and down the stairs, Kelly Severide was clearly still disturbed by the scene that they had found behind that re-enforced steel door.

Once they had verified the victim was breathing and had a pulse, Gabby and Sylvie were quick stabilize the bruised and bloody legs with splints. Cruz had cut the chain away from the manacle that was still cuffed around the man’s ankle, so they were able to move him on to a stretcher. They covered him with a thin emergency thermal space blanket and then with a thicker wool blanket, that they then tucked around him before strapping him down to the board before they maneuvered the gurney up the stairs. 

“I’m riding along with you in the ambulance,” Voight announced as they ascended the stairs. 

“Olinsky,” Voight said as he turned towards his detective, “call Dawson and Lindsay, have them meet me at the hospital. Meanwhile, you stay here and take custody of the crime scene. We’re also going to need a warrant before we can do a proper search and log anything into evidence. Not to mention keep an eye out for our second perp, in case he decides to come home. I trust you can get that done.”

“Sure thing boss,” was Olinsky’s reply.

***

Pushing the gurney through the doors of the emergency department, Gabby Dawson gave the oncoming doctors and nurses the rundown, “John Doe, 40’s. Found unconscious and non-responsive on the scene with possible multiple leg fractures. GCS 7, BP 87 over 50 but stable, heart rate 60. Temp 96.8”

“Trauma room 2,” Nurse Lockwood directed.

In the few seconds it took to maneuver into the room, Dr. Choi had already gloved up and taken the control of the situation.

“Let’s move him on my count,” said Dr. Choi. “One, two, three…”

Everyone gathered around the unconscious man, grabbed a hold of the board he was lying on and transferred him to a hospital bed. Paramedics Brett and Dawson slid the board out from underneath the still figure and exited the room, allowing the nurses and doctors to care for him.

“First let’s get a full blood panel and tox screen, then a CMP,” Dr. Choi called out.  “We’ll try and get him up for a full CT scan as soon as he is stable.” In a flurry of calculated motion, the requisite samples were taken and the patient was hooked up to various machines.

“Push fluids, 150 milligrams of clindamycin, 30 milligrams of ketorolac, and 80 milligrams dopamine,” instructed Dr. Choi as he checked the man’s vitals. Grabbing out his trusty penlight, the doctor checked the man’s mouth and eyes. “Airway is clear and pupils reactive.” Then pulling out his stethoscope, he listened to the man’s chest. “Clear breath sounds on both sides.” The doctor palpated the man’s stomach. “Belly is soft, no sign of internal bleeding.”

“Doctor Choi!” a nurse called out. “His temperature is rising rapidly and his blood ox levels are falling.”

Dr. Choi went back to check the man’s airway, which was clear a moment just before, was now starting to swell shut.

“Dammit! I’m going to have to intubate,” said Dr. Choi as a technician handed him an intubation kit. Luckily, Choi had a steady hand as he inserted the tubing through the man’s trachea and into his esophagus. In the thirty seconds it took him to do this, the other medical staff had already grabbed ice packs and placed them on the body.

As the patient’s breathing was regulated and his temperature returned to normal, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. There was a flush on the man’s skin, a rash had appeared along the arm that had the IV inserted and it was spreading across his body.

“An allergic reaction,” a nurse observed. “Should we give him a dose of Epi?”

“No,” replied Dr. Choi, “he’s stable and I don’t want to give him anything else until we figure out what caused the reaction in the first place. We’ll just keep an eye on him until we get a chance get that CT.”

Stripping off his gloves, Dr. Choi had a second to fully look over the bruised and broken man. The most obvious injuries were to the man’s legs. Livid red and purple bruises covered the lower legs. There was signs of serious chafing on both of his wrists and uncovered right ankle. The scarring on the insides of both of his wrists indicated a previous attempt at suicide. There was a foreign word that had been tattooed on his right inner thigh. And the left ankle was still encased in a thick metal band.

“Let’s see if we can get one of the surgical saws down here so we can cut that thing off,” Dr. Choi instructed.

“Doctor?” Voight’s gravely voice disturbed Choi’s concentration. “We’re going to need that to put into evidence.” Voight had been waiting outside, not wanting to get in the way.

“Of course,” responded Choi.

“And one other thing,” Voight insisted.

“What is that?” Choi inquired, his voice tight with indignation. He wasn’t in the mood to have a cop tell him what to do, especially after the frustration caused by the sudden and unexpected allergic reaction the man had had. 

“A rape kit,” replied Voight quietly.

Finally, Choi looked at the patient in front of him and realized the underwear the man was wearing was spotted with blood, not to mention, entirely age inappropriate. The dark smears of dried blood, in sharp contrast to the red and blue stars. The irritation, he had felt for Voight a moment before, vanished entirely. It was replaced by red-hot anger directed at whoever had purposely and intentionally damaged this sad creature before him. 

***

Not wanting to wait for a full CT,  a few quick x-rays were taken of the patient’s legs. Both tibias were severely fractured but non-displaced. Surgery would be necessary to permanently repair the bones so they could fully heal. In the meantime, the patient’s legs were stabilized as the medical team performed the time-consuming process of collecting samples for the rape kit.

Dr. Rhodes, the trauma surgery fellow, stepped into the examination room to confer with Dr. Choi. 

“Nearly finished?” Rhodes asked Choi as he observed Choi performed a rectal exam on the patient. Since they couldn’t risk rolling the man on his side because of the broken tibias, the staff had opted to place the man in stirrups, his leg’s lifted up and apart, splayed open.

“We got the necessary swabs and scrapping taken but the scope has revealed multiple rectal tears and scarring,” Dr. Choi replied dejectedly.

“I can stitch him up in surgery,” said Rhodes.

“If you have time, we haven’t gotten the lab results back yet so giving him any amount of sedation would be ill-advised,” Choi explained. “The last thing you would want is for a malignant hyperthermia incident on your hands. All you can do is hope he doesn’t gain consciousness mid-surgery.”

“I’ll do my best to get him in right away then,” Rhodes said as he departed the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Alvin Olinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511029)  
>  [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
>  [Kelly Severide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519651)  
>  [Joe Cruz](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519681)  
>  [Conner Rhodes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511248)  
>  [Gabriela Dawson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519792)  
>  [Sylvie Brett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519879)  
>  [Maggie Lockwood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519924)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
>  [Antonio Dawson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511509)  
>  [Erin Lindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511608)


	4. Post-Op

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

Sergeant Voight anxiously paced the hallway outside of surgery. The doctors had said that the victim was not in any real danger but since they couldn’t use any medications on him, that the biggest risk was him waking up during surgery. It was hard to imagine anything worse than waking up while being dissected on the operating table. But worse things had already happened to this man. Voight had in his possession the rape kit. The kit had to go to an independent lab for testing so Voight had to wait until Dawson and Lindsay show up to get it from him. The last thing he wanted was to break the chain of custody and have the evidence discredited.

Just then Hank saw his detectives come around a corner and head towards him. Erin Lindsay was practically like a daughter to him. He and his late wife had taken her in as a teenager, her rough past serving to motivate her desire to leave that life behind and join the police force. Antonio Dawson was another matter. He had no love for Voight and had tried somewhat successfully to turn Voight in for being corrupt. Hank had too many friends in the right places for any charges to stick. So now Dawson was one of Hank’s subordinates, where Hank could easily keep an eye on him.

“Sergeant,” Dawson said, his greeting terse.

“Give me a rundown of where we’re at,” said Voight. 

“Olinsky has the crime scene contained, warrant’s on its way,” replied Lindsay, her voice deep and husky.

“Any sign of the second perp,” asked Voight.

“Not yet but we have a name at least. Lee Barrett. Doctor Lee Barrett, actually. He’s a plastic surgeon out in North Shore,” answered Lindsay.

“We have a BOLO out on his plates,” Dawson added. “We’ll be sure to let you know if something pops up.”

“Good,” said Voight, “In the meantime, I want you two to run this kit over to the lab and then go search the house. Turn over every nook and cranny. I want to know: who these men are, who our vic is, how long he’s been there, what they’ve been doing with him, and why.”

“Sure thing sarge,” answered Lindsay.

“And—“ Hank started to say but was interrupted by the dark-haired doctor coming out of the O.R.

“How did it go?” Voight asked.

“Well, the good news is that we repaired the damage with biodegradable polymer screws, so he won’t need additional surgeries to remove any hardware,” Rhodes began. “He’s still unconscious but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Overall the damage to his legs and the scarring will be minimal. The bad news is that this guy has been through the wringer. He’s been severely malnourished and dehydrated. And the scans revealed evidence of thirty plus broken bones that have been broken, set, and healed in the recent past. Mostly fingers and ribs, but larger ones as well. Not to mention the rectal examination revealed traces of semen in addition to tearing and scarring.”

Voight and Dawson both paled at the idea of a man being at the receiving end of such horrific abuse. 

“How far back do the injuries date?” Lindsay asked, unfazed. 

“More than a year, less than five, it’s hard to say,” replied Rhodes. “It depends on a lot of factors.”

Dawson asked, “When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“Hopefully soon,” said Rhodes, “CT scan didn’t show any signs of brain damage. And we’ve got him off the respirator and on an IV vitamins and nutrient cocktail.”

“ _Hmmm_ ,” Hank huffed. “Looks like I’m staying here until he wakes up then. Thank you, Doctor Rhodes.” Then turning to his detectives and handing Dawson the nondescript brown paper bag that held the rape kit. “You two beat it and call me if there are any more developments.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
> [Antonio Dawson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511509)  
> [Erin Lindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511608)  
> [Conner Rhodes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511248)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
> [Lee Barrett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509922)


	5. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby wakes up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consulted an actual nurse in order to make this chapter as accurate as possible :)
> 
> See End Notes for Character List.

*BEEP*. . . . . . *BEEP* . . . . . . *BEEP* . . . . . .  *BEEP*. . . . . . *BEEP* . . . . . . *BEEP* . . . . . .  *BEEP*. . . . . . *BEEP* 

“ _What is that terrible sound_ ,” Bobby thought as he lay decumbently on the basement floor. He attempted to ignore it as he tried to shift his mind elsewhere. Both of his legs were thrumming in pain, but that was to be expected after Father had… Father had… Bobby’s thoughts were fuzzy and the recent memories were floating in and out of his grasp. At least they had given him his mat back, he had missed it these past eight weeks. He adjusted slightly, basking in comfort.

*BEEP*

“ _For heaven sakes, what on earth is making that sound_ ,” thought Bobby his eyes flying open. His eyes came to rest on a heart and respiratory monitor next to his bed. A bed. He was in a bed. He sat up quickly, panicked. Where was he?

To his right, there was a white board with writing on it but it took a moment for his eyes to properly focus on the words. There was patient information and in the corner the imprint of caduceus in a hexagon accompanied by the words ‘Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.’ 

“ _No_ ,” Bobby thought, “ _no. This is a hospital. My Daddies would never take me to a hospital. And in Chicago? How the fuck did I get to Chicago? I don’t know anyone in Chicago. Where are my Daddies? I need them._ ” Father would break more than just a few bones if he knew where Bobby was. How could Bobby be so naughty? He had to get back to them. 

Pushing the covers off, Bobby realized his lower legs were encased in plaster casts, rendering him immobile. There was a length of tubing emanating from underneath the light colored hospital gown he was wearing. Bobby tugged at it, making himself gasp in shock and discomfort. He had been catheterized, and the tubing ran up to into his penis, down his urethra, and into his bladder. Whoever had done this had ‘touched’ him. Father and Daddy would both be furious if they knew Bobby had let someone else touch him. He belonged to them and them alone.

Wanting to call out for Daddy, but too afraid of who else might be around, Bobby stayed silent. No one had realized he was awake yet, so if he could reach a phone he could just call his Daddies to come and get him.

“ _Don’t be foolish_ ,” the sly voice within him said. “ _You don’t know their number. You don’t even know their names. They’ve obviously abandoned you_.”

“ _No_ ,” Bobby thought fiercely, “ _they LOVE me._ ”

“ _Love_ ,” the voice scoffed, “ _Who could love a fucking whore like you?_ ”

The voice was right, he was a whore. A useless fucking whore, unworthy of his Daddies’ love. It was a little wonder that they hadn’t gotten rid of him earlier. 

As the tears ran down Bobby’s cheeks, he noticed a crash cart in the corner, “ _I need them. I can’t live without them. If they don’t want me, then I don’t want to be alive anymore._ ” 

Trying not to dislodge any of the tubing or wiring he was hooked up to, Bobby untangled himself from the lines, and let down the guardrail on the side of the bed. He swung his legs over the edge, breathing in with a hiss at the pain. That was one thing he could look forward to, no more pain. Painstakingly slow Bobby rolled over and lowered himself down gradually, his knees finally made contact with the hard linoleum. 

Breathing hard, Bobby army crawled over to the crash cart and grasped the base. He knew crash carts weren’t normally stored in a patients room, but he didn’t care to know why it was in his room in the first place. What he cared about was the manual defibrillator on the top of the cart.  Having a head full of  random facts on a variety of subjects, Bobby remembered that, unlike the automated external defibrillators found in many public spaces that prevent accidental discharge, the defibrillators on crash carts had no such safety feature.  He just had to turn it on, set the voltage to 1000, wait for it to charge, then push the shock button. 

Holding onto the edge of the cart, Bobby leveraged it as best he could so he could get on his knees. Then reaching for the paddles, he had a hold of one but the other clattered onto the floor. Wincing at the sound, he glanced over at the door to see if he had drawn anyone’s attention. When no one came, he placed both paddles down as he then turned the voltage knob all the way up. The last step was to charge the machine but he couldn’t quite get a hold of the toggle needed to charge the device. Pulling himself up by his fingertips and putting far too much weight on his injuries legs, he finally was able to press the button, his fingers sweaty with perspiration and exertion. He let go of the cart and slid onto the floor.

The whine of the machine charging made Bobby doubt his plan. Maybe he had been taken from them. Maybe they were coming back for him.

“ _They are not coming back,”_ hissed the voice, “ _they broke your legs so you couldn’t get back to them and knocked you unconscious so you wouldn’t be able to resist them getting rid of you. It is clear that they don’t want you anymore. They’ve given you to a new daddy. This person has clearly already ‘touched' you, and you didn’t even put up any sort of resistance. So you can accept your fate and have someone else become your daddy or you can make your own decision for once.”_

Bobby didn’t want a new daddy. He just wanted to be home. “ _Home_ ,” he thought, “I _’m just going home_.” Picking up the paddles and placing them on his chest, Bobby pressed the shock buttons. 

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Lee Barrett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509922)  
> [Dean Kipling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510054)


	6. Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to commit suicide in a hospital isn't the best idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

Sleep deprivation can have some pretty unpleasant side effects. Hank Voight had been awake for over 24 hours and once his detectives had left, he pulled up a chair just outside of the victim’s recovery room and had a seat. The thing about being sleep deprived, and then sitting down to wait for something that might or might not happen in the near to distant future, is that it can make a person fall asleep at the most inopportune moments. And not only fall asleep but stay asleep when there are sounds indicative of injured person getting out of bed and fumbling with dangerous medical equipment. 

The sounds that finalized roused Voight, from his not-so-peaceful slumber, were the sound of feet hitting the ground in rapid succession as medical professionals rushed into the victim’s room and called a code blue. Pushing himself to a standing position, Voight was helpless as he could just stand and watch the code team attempt to restart the man’s heart. 

They didn’t bother to move him off of the floor as they started. One medic had a manual oxygen bag valve mask placed over the man’s face and was decompressing the bag every few seconds. A nurse had straddled the man’s chest and was performing chest compressions. The tune of ‘Another Bites the Dust’ by _Queen_ drifted into Voight mind as he watched. Granted not the most optimistic song to come to mind, but it was an ironic fact that the beat of the song matched exactly the beat one should give compressions at when attempting CPR. 

Then the attending physician, Dr. Manning, had picked up the paddles off of the floor and recharged the defibrillator. She shouted, “CLEAR,” and everyone stood back. The man convulsed as the machine sent the electrical current through his body. A few seconds past and the monitor resumed its beep… beep … beep.

As the medical team relocated the man back to his bed, the doctor paged for Dr. Rhodes. A few moments later, Dr. Rhodes entered the room at a brisk pace.

“What happened,” Rhodes asked Dr. Manning.

“We had to restart his heart,” said Manning.

“What do you mean restart his heart? Did he have a heart attack? I didn’t see any blood clots on the CT or while I was operating on him.”

“No, he did it to himself. He managed to get out of the bed somehow and then get ahold of the defibrillator and…”

“Suicide attempt?”

“That would be my guess, but I’m sure you’ll want to have Dr. Charles come and do a psych eval.”

“I’ll go and page him right away.” Then sighing with resignation, Dr. Rhodes said, “I should’ve known to put him in soft restraints after seeing those scars on his wrists but I was worried about traumatizing him more.”

“Well, it’s not like you have a choice about restraining him now,” replied Dr. Manning as she walked out of the room and past Voight. Dr. Rhodes turned to watch her leave and noticed Voight standing in the entryway. Rhodes beckoned him into the room.

“You’re still here sergeant?” Rhodes asked as he turned to place the patient in soft restraints that wrapped around each wrist and attached to the guardrails on the bed.

“I will be until he wakes up,” Voight answered, “Then I’ll have an on-duty officer come and be stationed here until we nab the bastards that did this.”

“Can you believe he tried to kill himself, after all, he’s been through, and now that he has been rescued?”

“Honestly,” replied Voight, “I don’t know. If it were me, I’d rather be dead than have to face what’s happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
> [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
> [Conner Rhodes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511248)  
> [Natalie Manning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33519996)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Daniel Charles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510375)


	7. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby faces his new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

Eventually, Bobby’s eyes fluttered back open, the damned beeping noise had woken him up again. Except for this time, not only his legs were hurting, but his chest as well. Trying to move, Bobby quickly realized he had been put in restraints. 

The rustling of his movements must’ve caught the attention of the man sitting in the corner, who stood up and poked his head out of the doorway, asking a passing nurse’s aid to get the doctor. Bobby did not like the look of this man, not one bit. This man was caucasian, of average height, a slightly stocky frame, and a grizzled appearance. His clothes consisted of a button up plaid shirt and jeans, attached to the belt of his jeans was a badge. Which could only mean one thing, this man was a cop.

“Hello,” Hank said gently. “I’m glad you’re finally awake. The doctor will be in here in just a minute. My name is Sergeant Voight. Can you tell me your name?”

Bobby didn’t respond, just glared at the man. There was no way he was going to talk to this man or anyone else for that matter. Just because his Daddies had abandoned him, didn’t mean they wouldn’t make good on their promise to make that wretched video they had made public. Besides Father said not to talk to anyone. If he was a good listening boy and obeyed his Father’s instructions, then maybe they would come and get him. 

Another man entered the room, he was the same height as the officer, but lankier. His hair was black with a distinguishing widow’s peak and he wore maroon scrubs under a white doctor’s coat.

“ _Ahhhh_ ,” said Dr. Rhodes, “awake at last I see. I’m Doctor Rhodes. Just a few questions I’d like to ask you if you don’t mind.”

Bobby did not respond.

Pursing his lips together, Dr. Rhodes continued to speak.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Can you tell me if you’re in pain?”

After each question, the doctor paused, awaiting a response. But Bobby stayed still and silent, no response, nothing.

“Alright, I’m just going to do a quick assessment, and then you can rest. Okay?” Rhodes said as he reached forward to pull back the bed sheets.

Jerking away violently, panic surging through his veins and his eyes wide with fear, Bobby pushed himself as far away from the doctor as he could manage.

“Whoa!” said Rhodes, alarmed. He pulled his arms back and lifting up his hands, fingers spread, showing that he didn’t mean any harm. “Don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.”

Rhodes turned to Voight and said, “Keep an eye on him for me. I’ll be back in just a minute.” Then Rhodes left only to be back a short while later followed by two other doctors.

The first doctor was obvious the senior of the two. He was a slightly portly man with a pair of square shaped spectacles hanging off of the end of his nose. He was wearing a sweater vest and a loose tie under his gray coat. The second doctor was female, young, most likely a resident. Her hair was a frizzy mass of unkempt curls that made her look frazzled. 

“This is [Doctor Charles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510375), he is our chief of psychiatry. And [Doctor Reese](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511713) is a resident here,” said Rhodes.

Bobby shifted uneasily. There were too many people looking at him and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and die. It was all too much. He couldn’t move any farther away so he turned his head away from the watching eyes and buried his face in the pillow.

“Doctor Rhodes, Doctor Reese, Sergeant, if you could please step out of the room for a minute,” asked Dr. Charles softly. “I think our patient is feeling a bit overwhelmed. Let’s give him some room to breathe, shall we.”

They turned and left, and Dr. Charles shut the door behind them before turning back towards Bobby.

“I can’t imagine how terrible this all is for you,” said Charles. “I would like to help you if you’ll allow it.”

His face still buried in the pillows, Bobby began to cry. Sobs of grief shaking his body. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back home with his Daddies. These people didn’t understand. They probably thought of him as an actual human being, and not who he really was, a worthless whore.

“You might not believe me, but it’s the truth. I really do want to help you. In fact, so does Doctor Rhodes and Doctor Reese and Sergeant Voight. All we want to do is help. Could you do me a favor and look at me?”

Bobby didn’t turn his head but he did stop crying.

“Can you tell me your name? Or maybe where you’re from?” 

Finally turning his head, Bobby looked down at the man’s feet, not wanting to make eye contact.

Charles took a step forward and Bobby shrunk back. The psychiatrist stopped on the spot but continued talking.

“Do you understand what I am saying? Do you speak English?

“ _No_ ,” Bobby thought, finally making eye contact, “ _English is bad. It isn’t allowed_.”

Unfortunately, the doctor couldn’t read minds. (But if he could, it would make his job a hell of a lot easier.) But he did know when he had pushed enough, and now it was time to back off.

“Okay,” said Charles comfortingly, “you don’t want to talk. That’s fine. But if you need anything, anything at all. Just let me know.”

***

Doctor Charles stepped back out into the hallway to three pairs of eagerly questioning eyes.

“So what do you think is wrong with him,” asked Dr. Rhodes, “PTSD?”

“No,” replied Charles, “nothing ‘post’ about this trauma. This is current. He is currently experiencing trauma. He’s in a state of shock.”

“Can’t we just give him some benzos to calm him down?” asked Reese.

“No,” interjected Dr. Rhodes, “the few tests that have come back indicate he has something called Drug Intolerance Syndrome. So it basically means he is hypersensitive to drugs and more importantly to the benign compounds in which all medications are suspended. He’s allergic to them. Giving him anything would cause him to go into anaphylactic shock.”

“So we can’t give him any medication, not even for the pain?” Reese asked.

Rhodes shook his head, “Unfortunately not.”

“Something tells me he’s no stranger to pain,” interrupted Voight. “But I’m guessing that coupled with the stress he’s under, he’s not likely to start talking anytime soon.”

“It’s not uncommon for victims of this type of trauma to not want to talk, especially to strangers,” said Charles, “It might be days or even weeks before he starts talking.”

“Forget about talking,” said Rhodes, “what about providing him with basic care. Did you see him flinch? It was like he thought I was going to stick him with a red hot poker or something.”

“Hmmm,” Dr. Charles uttered, “I’m assuming the people that did this to him are male?”

“As far as we know,” replied Voight.

“Then it probably best we only have female nurses or doctors perform any sort of procedure or tests that would involve touching, at least for the time being,” said Dr. Charles.

“Then I’m guessing there is little use in my being here,” said Voight. “I’ll send over a uni to be stationed outside his door in case someone shows up looking for him. Be sure to let me know if anything changes.” Voight turned at left. He needed to get back to the station, to direct the investigation from there. Picking at the fabric of his shirt and smelling it, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He smelled of that dank basement. Perhaps a change of clothes and a quick shower were necessary.

The conversation didn’t end when Voight left. After conferring, the doctors decided to move the patient to the psych ward. It was quieter up there, and he could convalesce just as well there as anywhere else. More importantly, it would be easier for them to keep him monitored. He had already proven himself a danger to himself and putting him on a suicide watch was deemed not only prudent but necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Conner Rhodes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511248)  
>  [Daniel Charles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510375)  
>  [Sarah Reese](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511713)


	8. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone in the Intelligence Unit is working hard on the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any fans of Chicago Series (PD, Fire, Med) will have noticed I left out quite a few characters. It’s not that I dislike them, but they are not necessary for the progression of the plot and I think they would just confuse readers unfamiliar with the fandom. And it’s difficult to juggle all the characters from all five shows plus the original characters. For these reasons, the cast has been limited.
> 
> See End Notes for Character List.

Back at the station, Sergeant Voight rounded the corner as he walked towards the holding cells. The blond man was sitting against the back wall, his head buried in his arms. Hank banged on the metal bars to get the man’s attention. Dean shuddered, the sounds jarringly painful as they reverberated in his skull. The man glowered at the policeman standing outside the cell door.

“Hey Kipling,” Voight said, “did they give you that phone call yet?”

“No,” replied Dean tersely.

“You okay? I'm guessing you probably still have a nasty headache,” asked Voight.

Dean nodded in the affirmative.

“Well, give me just a second, and I’ll see if I can find you some water and aspirin,” said Voight before he walked off.

Once the sergeant was upstairs he summoned one Officer Kevin Atwater to his office.

“Atwater,” said Voight, “I want to you to get everyone back here so we can go over the case so far. Any news on the other perp, Lee Barrett?”

“The BOLO alert led to his car being found at O’Hare,” answered the officer. “Looks like he booked a round-trip ticket to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, of all places. He left last night and has a return flight scheduled for Monday morning.”

“Well, as soon as we let Kipling have that phone call, he’s going to call Barrett who will come rushing back to Chicago. Let’s hold off on that until we have more information to go off of.”

***

The members of the Intelligence Unit were all gathered around their squad room, a whiteboard in their midst. Sergeant Voight led the group that consisted of Detectives Olinsky, Lindsay, and Dawson and Officer Atwater. As it was fairly late in the evening, most of them were ready to pack up and head home for the night. But first, they needed to surmise what they knew of the situation and get their assignments. It went without question that they would be working through the weekend.

“First things first, where are we on the identity of our victim?” Voight asked as he pasted a picture of Bobby to the board.

“He’s an unidentified Caucasian male in his 30’s or 40’s,” replied Lindsay. “We ran his description through the missing person’s database, but we didn’t get any hits.”

“Male victims of this type of abuse are typically sex workers,” interjected Olinsky. “When a man in that profession goes missing, you’re not likely to find anyone placing a missing person’s report.”

“Good point,” replied Voight, “Atwater, run the guy’s fingerprints and DNA through IAFIS and CODIS. Maybe if he’s been picked up for solicitation in the past, we can find out who he is. Moving on, our suspects, Dean Kipling and Lee Barrett.” He added their pictures and names to the board as well.

“They’re both doctors,” replied Dawson, “Kipling specializes in genetics and works out at the university doing research. He was picked up last night for a DUI after he had one too many at Jimmy’s Bar. Other than that he has had a previous DUI and a few drunk and disorderies, but nothing recent. Barrett is a successful plastic surgeon and has his own practice. He doesn’t have a record as far as we know. The two of them attended the same medical school in Philly, so that’s probably where they met.”

“The two of them been together a long time,” added Lindsay. “They even went up to Canada are got married a few years ago.”

“What did you guys turn up when you searched the house?” Voight asked.

“There wasn’t much on the main floor,” said Dawson. “A tablet and a computer in the desk drawer of their room. Both password protected of course. We’ve sent those off to the techs already. And then the crime scene guys have collected a bunch of fingerprints, samples, and pictures.”

“The basement is another matter,” said Lindsay, “In that locked room, there were all sorts of medical supplies: needles, syringes, vials of medication, scalpels, and even some high tech testing equipment. There was a small refrigerator full of blood and other bodily fluid samples.  All in all, some pretty creepy shit.”

“What were they doing with all that stuff?” asked Atwater.

“My guess is they were performing some sort of medical experiment on the guy,” said Dawson. “But we didn’t find a single trace of any sort of records, data, test results, that sort of thing.”

“We’ll know more once we are able to get a warrant for their work computers,” added Lindsay. “Only problem with that we wouldn’t want anyone from Barrett’s practice talking to him and warning him about a bunch of cops poking around and asking questions before he gets on a plane back to Chicago. We really need to get him back here.”

“Leave that to me and Olinsky to take care of,” said Voight. “The two of you, get those warrants but wait until we have both men in custody before executing them. Meanwhile, go over evidence you gathered with a fine tooth comb. And get down to the lab, I want the results from that rape kit and anything else the crime scene techs found in the house.”

***

Hank had Olinsky move Kipling into interrogation. Then collecting a bottle of aspirin from his desk and a bottle of water, the sergeant went to go and pay their suspect a visit.

“Here are those pain pills I promised,” Voight said as he placed the items in front of Dean.

“Thank you,” replied Kipling.

Voight casually took a seat across the metal table. Sitting down and leaning back,Hank started to make small talk.

“My son, he’s a good kid,” said Voight. “ But a few years ago, he made the mistake of having one drink too many and got behind a wheel. So I definitely feel for you in this situation.”

“I appreciate you’re kindness,” Dean said, “but I probably shouldn’t talk to you about it.”

“You’re right,” said Voight. “I’m just trying to make sure this alleged incident doesn’t ruin your life. I looked at your file and saw that this wasn’t your first time getting pulled over for drunk driving. If you’re not careful, this second DUI could land you in jail. I could help you if you wanted to talk, but it’s your choice.”

“So what you’re saying is this conversation would be off the record?” Kipling asked.

“What I’m saying is that come Monday morning, you’ll be in front of a judge at a bail hearing. That is two days you get the pleasure of being in police custody. A lot can happen in two days. Charges can be reduced or maybe even dropped if you play your cards right.”

“What do you get out of it?” 

“Can’t a man just want to help another man out?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Well, Doctor Kipling, it just so happens that last night a particular friend of a friend was patronizing Jimmy’s Bar. It just so happens that is the same bar you were at last night,” Voight lied. He needed to give Kipling a reason to trust him. What better way to not arouse suspicion than to invent a decoy target?

“At this bar,” Voight continued, “this friend of a friend was having drinks all night. It would be beneficial if someone could corroborate his alibi.”

“You want me to lie and say I saw some guy at drinking all night at the bar I was at,” questioned Kipling suspiciously.

“I want you to remember seeing a guy at the bar drinking all night,” replied Voight. “Besides, you’re a doctor. Doctors make believable witnesses.”

“To be clear, if I say I saw this guy, then you’ll get the charges dropped?”

“I am really not in the position to make any promises, but I can guarantee that the last thing I want to see is you go down on this DUI charge. Now can you tell me what you remember from last night?” Voight inquired.

“Not really,” Kipling relented. “My husband and I had a fight before he had to leave on a business trip. So I consoled myself with a few drinks.”

“At Jimmy’s Bar?” Voight prompted.

“Yeah, at Jimmy’s,” replied Kipling.

“How long were you there?”

“I don’t know exactly, from about 10:00 until then closed.”

“And you got a good look at the other patrons?”

“Hey man, just show me a picture of the guy and I’ll say whatever you want me to say. I’ll even say that I bought him a drink and spent the night reminiscing about how bad the white sox are playing this season.”

“Good. Then I think we’re about done here. Just a few more things to discuss. I’m assuming your husband— What’s his name?”

“Lee.”

“So I’m assuming Lee will be your first call.”

“If you guys ever let me use a phone.”

“As long as I get what I need, you can make as many phone calls as you like,” Hank said with a smile as he stood up and left the room.

***

“Did you see that guy?” Voight asked as he walked into the room where Olinsky had been observing the interrogation.  “More concerned about his own skin than he is about the man he left bleeding in that basement.”

“And as far as he knows, that man is still in the basement,” replied Olinsky. “He’s going to want to get out of here as soon as possible or have his partner get back so that one of them can attend to the guy.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” said Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Dean Kipling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510054)  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Alvin Olinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511029)  
>  [Antonio Dawson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511509)  
>  [Erin Lindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511608)  
>  [Kevin Atwater](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33512100)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
> [Lee Barrett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509922)


	9. Monitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short telephone conversation between Dean and Lee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a recap:  
> Robert Goren (aka Bobby) is kidnapped by two men. He refers to them as Lewis & Clark. But they instruct him to refer to them as Father & Daddy. Their actual names are Lee Barrett & Dean Kipling. 
> 
> Lewis = Father = Lee Barrett  
> Clark = Daddy = Dean Kipling
> 
> See End Notes for Character List.

The sergeant and his detective watched from another room as their suspect dialed his husband’s phone number. Voight had let Kipling use one of the department phones, and had left the man alone so he could have some ‘privacy.’ Of course, that phone call was being monitored and recorded from another room.

Barrett must’ve not wanted to answer a call from an unfamiliar number because it took Kipling calling three separate times before he picked up.

“Hello?” Lee answered the phone inquisitively.

“Hey Lee,” Dean said, “it’s me.”

“Dean, why are you calling me from this number? Did you lose your phone?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Babe, please tell me you didn’t do something stupid.”

“Well…”

“What did you do?”

“I got a DUI,” Dean said quickly. “But before you freak out, I’ll have you know that I’ve got everything under control.”

“Under control?! Dean! Are you calling me from jail?”

“I’m not in jail. Just in custody until my bail hearing on Monday. But I spoke with an officer and he says that he might be able to get me out sooner. Maybe even have the charges dropped.”

“Son of a— Dean, how could you?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose Lee.”

“I’m coming home.”

“No, you don’t have to. I can take care of myself.”

“If you could take care of yourself, then you wouldn’t be in police custody right now would you?” Lee asked ironically.

Dean sighed heavily, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s too late for apologies. I’ll book the first flight home and be there as soon as I can.”

“What about that ‘ _business meeting_ ’ you have to attend?” Dean asked, putting emphasis on the subject of the sentence. He was fully aware that it was entirely possible for the police to be listening in on his conversation and the last thing he needed was to arouse suspicion about his and Lee’s activities. 

“Business meeting, um…” Lee said slowly, obviously catching Dean’s meaning. “It’s not going to happen. The person I was meeting turned out not to be the person I thought they were. I figured that out soon after I got here. So there’s no point in me staying.”

“Oh. Well, if only you could’ve figured that out without having to get on a plane and fly  500 miles away,” Dean said bitterly.

“Me, too. But there is nothing I can do about it now.”

“I know.”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“I’m assuming before you left the house, you locked it down. Turned off the lights, made sure the stove was off, that sort of _thing._ ”

“Yeah, I took care of it.”

“Good. Well, then I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay.”

“And babe, don’t be talking to the cops. Ask for a lawyer.”

“I don’t think I need one.”

“Just ask for one if they come to talk to you again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

***

Olinsky turned to his commanding officer and said, “They knew we were listening. They didn’t even mention the victim.”

“They were just being cautious. Doesn’t mean that they know we found him,” replied Voight. “But Barrett mentioned making sure a certain _thing_ was locked down. He might have been referring to our vic.”

“Could be, or he could be referring to something else,” Olinsky responded. “I also don’t think that he was on a business trip. There is something these two are hiding.” 

“Either way, you’ll get a chance to ask him. Monitor the flights and pick Barrett up when he lands,” instructed Voight as he got up and walked out of the room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Dean Kipling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510054)  
> [Lee Barrett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509922)  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Alvin Olinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511029)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)


	10. The Lab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawson and Lindsay go pay a visit to the forensic lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chicago P.D. typically doesn't have any scenes like this in the show, so I had to improvise. The female lab technician is an original character but you don't have to worry about remember who she is, just needed to make someone up for the sake of the plot.
> 
> See End Notes for Character List :)

It was an abnormal occurrence for the detectives to go to the forensic lab in person. Usually, they just waited until the lab sent the results to the station. But this wasn’t a normal case. So if the technicians needed a little extra push to get the testing done quickly, then Dawson and Lindsay were happy to provide that motivation in-person.

Ever the gentleman, Dawson held the door open for his partner as the two detectives walked into the building. Lindsay rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, secretly appreciating the small but kind gesture. The building was a maze of doors and hallways. Indistinctive bland beige walls and tiled floor with brown doors and metal door signage made up the government building. It lacked soul and was clearly designed with only function in mind. 

“I always get turned around when I come here,” said Dawson as the walked. He turned his head to read the signs on each of the doorways, making sure they didn’t pass their destination.

“Two lefts, a right, and another left,” replied Lindsay confidently.

“What would I do without you?” Dawson asked ironically.

Lindsay smirked. They had reached the doorway to the lab and she opened the door. 

There was no one at the front desk. The air was stale and an old pedestal fan was chugging along in the corner, jerkily oscillating back and forth. The room was just as bland as the hallway. There were a few metal folding chairs along the wall behind a coffee table topped with old and tattered National Geographic magazines. One the counter in front of them was a brass call bell. Lindsay stepped forward and tapped the plunger and it emitted a sharp ding. They were greeted a moment later by a short lab tech.

“Detectives,” said the short and stocky woman with thick spectacles. “What can I do for you?”

“We are working that John Doe case, where the guy was being held captive in a basement,” said Dawson. “Anyway, we were hoping that you might have something for us.”

“I’m sorry Detectives,” said the woman. “We only got the evidence a few hours ago and we are in the middle of testing. I don’t have any results to give you. You will just have to wait for us to finish and submit the report.”

“Listen…” Lindsay began to say to the woman while glancing down at the name tag on the left breast of her lab coat, “… [Myrian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33520158). I realize this is highly unusual but we’re dead in the water without more information. There is a man lying in a hospital that has been put through hell and the wouldn’t want the men responsible to walk free.”

“I understand,” said Myrian. “I really do. But we moved this case to the front of the line as it is. Typically, it would be weeks before we even begin testing. This is a government run operation so you know we have a huge backlog and with only an overworked and underpaid staff to do the work. I just can’t snap my fingers and magically have the tests completed and the results compiled into a nice little report.”

“Please,” Dawson said, “anything would help. Anything at all.”

“Well…” said Myrian uncertainly.

“Just a few details,” pleaded Lindsay, “please.”

“Okay,” Myrian relented. “But keep in mind, until the testing is complete and we’ve had the time to analysis the finding and submit a report, that nothing I’m going to tell you has been verified.”

“Thank you,” said the detectives.

“Wait here,” instructed the lab tech as she departed the room.

Lindsay and Dawson took a seat and waited for her to return. Dawson sat and stared at the clock while Lindsay pulled out her phone. She had been texting back and forth with one of the court clerks to check on the status of search warrant requests.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, Myrian emerged with a manila folder. Sitting down with the detectives, she opened the folder and started to place the contents on the coffee table. Each time she pulled another document or photo from the folder, she would briefly explain what it was.

“First, we haven’t had the time to match all the fingerprints, but we pulled three distinct pairs from both the basement and the upstairs. The obvious conclusion being that your victim has spent time upstairs and hasn’t been kept solely in the basement.

“Next, the medical equipment. There’s not much I can say about that other than most of it was kept sterile except for a few pieces that were recently used on which we found traces of blood, tissue, and bone matter. But like I said, we haven’t had the time to run the DNA, so there’s no telling who it belongs to.

“There was a plush penguin toy collected at the scene. The toy isn’t very old but shows signs of wear and tear. It did have trace amounts of bodily fluids on it but again, we’ve yet to do any testing. These type of fabric items tend to get dirty easily. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find trace amounts of mucus, blood, and semen.

“Stored in the basement were various chains and cuffs. These were heavy duty and probably custom ordered, my guess would be from an online BDSM store. Again, there were traces of bodily fluids, in this case, most likely blood.

“The rape kit, of course, is still being processed. But there are definitely traces of blood and semen from both the anal and oral swabs. That and skin cells under the fingernails, hair, blood, and clothing are still all being tested. I will say though, that the type of underwear this guy was wearing is a bit strange for someone his age. 

“Lastly, that small DVD player that was in the basement. There was a DVD-R inside but it the media loaded on it was corrupted somehow. It’s unfortunate but these things do happen. We’ve sent it off to be processed at the tech lab, and they’ll send it over to the station if they recover anything.”

***

Lindsay and Dawson discussed what the lab technician had told them as the strode out of the building and go into their vehicle. 

“If our John Doe was upstairs, do you think that means he wasn’t actually being held captive?” Lindsay theorized. “Could this just be some consensual role-playing gone too far?”

“No way,” replied Dawson. “The man has broken bones and is severely malnourished. There is no one I know who would go through that willingly.”

“I’m not sure, people are into some pretty kinky stuff these days.”

“Whatever weird sex stuff these guys were doing, it sure as hell isn’t acceptable to leave someone with broken legs locked in a basement. These guys are doctors, they should know better.”

“Wish that DVD wasn’t corrupted, it might clear up some unanswered questions.”

“I’m not sure I want to know. When you factor in that toy penguin and the little kid underpants he was wearing, these guys might be into some pedophilia type stuff. I would really hate to have to investigate is something of that nature.”

“That makes two of us.”

Lindsay’s phone beeped and she pulled it out of her pocket.

“Looks like our warrants went through,” she said. “Let’s go pick them up and then head back to the station to see if Voight wants us to wait before enforcing them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Antonio Dawson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511509)  
> [Erin Lindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511608)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
> [Lee Barrett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509922)  
> [Dean Kipling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510054)


	11. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Doe no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter but an exciting one :)
> 
> I tried my best to find out what an actual IAFIS report would look like. However I was unsuccessful in that pursuit so I created my own, enjoy!
> 
> See End Notes for Character List.

IAFIS stands for Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System and is maintained by the FBI. The database acquires the fingerprints of not only criminals but also civilians and law enforcement. Once a fingerprint sample is submitted, it only takes IAFIS a short time to respond. 

“Sarge,” Atwater said quietly, tapping on the doorframe of Voight’s office. The officer held in his hand a print-out of the IAFIS identification results. Hank had been slouched back in his chair, trying to get a few moments of rest, his eyes closed.

“I ran the victim’s prints through IAFIS,” continued Atwater. “We got a match.”

Voight sat up straight and ran his hands over his face and beckoned for Atwater to step inside the office. 

“So who is he?” Voight asked.

“Well,” said Atwater nervously, “he’s not a sex worker.”

“Okay,” said Voight, “but if he’s in the database, it means he has been picked up on  some other charge.” Looking at the officer fidgeting in front of him, Hank realized that Atwater was agitated by the results. “His record must be pretty bad if it has gotten you rattled,” Hank said as he held his hand out for the paper.

“His record isn’t the bad part,” Atwater said as he handed the results over to Voight.

Hank huffed skeptically but then his heart dropped when he looked down at the paper and read the results. This wasn’t the criminal record report he was expecting. Instead it was the type of report that resulted when an employer submitted an employee information and fingerprints for necessary background checks.  

“Holy fuck,” Voight exclaimed. “He’s a cop.” 

 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138641398@N05/24534417627/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
> [Kevin Atwater](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33512100)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)


	12. Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voight calls Benson. Benson calls Eames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of consistency through the story, these phone calls are one sided. The three dashes indicate a pause when the other party is speaking. 
> 
> If you are wondering why the conversation between Barrett & Kipling had both sides, it was because the conversation was being monitored and listened to while it was occurring.
> 
> See End Notes for Character List :)

“Just get the arrest reports finished and on my desk by the end of the day,” Sergeant Olivia Benson instructed one of her detectives. It was another chaotic day at the New York Special Victims Unit and Benson was ready for the day to be over. Being in charge of a bunch of detectives who would more often ask for forgiveness rather than permission was exhausting. Meanwhile, she spent an inordinate amount of time on the phone with her captain, listening to him telling her how to run the department. It was exhausting.

*RING*

“ _What could it be now_?” Olivia asked herself as she heard the phone in her office ringing.

*RING*

“ _Maybe if I ignore it, it will stop ringing_ ,” thought Olivia.

*RING*

The sergeant sighed and walked slowly over to her phone, hoping it would stop ringing before she got there. She wasn’t that lucky.

“Benson,” she chirped into the phone.

——— 

“Sergeant Voight, I wasn't expecting to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

———

“Cases, where the victim has been held captive for a long time, can be difficult, not a surprise he’s not talking. And I’m assuming your victim was raped, otherwise, you wouldn’t be calling me.”

———

“Abducted from New York, are you sure?”

———

“Well if he’s in the IAFIS database —“ 

———

“A cop?! From New York. Are you serious? How in the hell did he end up in Chicago?”

———

“Wait, am I your first call? Hank, you should’ve called 1PP first.”

———

“Okay, well I can get you the number.”

———

“Don’t mention it. But um… are you going to tell me the vic’s name?”

———

“Goren? Really? Are you sure?”

———

“I don’t know him personally, but I know his old partner, Alexandria Eames. She’s a lieutenant now over at the Joint Security Task Force. But before that, the two of them were partners for a long time on the Major Case Squad.”

———

“No, I’m not kidding. He had quite the reputation for having unusual methods, effective but … odd. Apparently, he rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.”

———

“Retribution? It’s a possibility. Do your suspects have any connection to New York?”

———

“I see. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Eames. I should probably be the one to call her. It might be easier hearing from someone she knows. I’ll give her your number, though I won’t be surprised if she gets on the next plane to Chicago. That’s what I would do if someone told me my old partner had been kidnapped and raped.”

———

“Don’t mention it. I am happy to help.”

***

[Alexandra Eames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510174) was sitting in the driver’s seat of her vehicle sipping coffee. She had just finished interviewing a terrorism suspect’s mother and Eames needed a few minutes to collect her thoughts. Unfortunately, she was unable to do so because her phone started to ring. Glancing down at the caller ID, Eames wrinkled her forehead. Why would Benson from SVU be calling her?

“Hello,” Eames warbled warmly. 

——— 

“Olivia, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. How are things over at SVU? I heard you’re running the place now.”

———

“That good, huh?”

———

“When I was on Major Case we didn’t investigate too many sex crimes but there were a few.”

——— 

“Chicago? No, not that I can remember. My old partner would know for sure. But … um… I’m not sure where he is anymore. He transferred over to the organized crime division and went undercover. And that’s the last I heard from him. I even went over his head to his captain to see if I could get a hold of him but I just got the runaround. Honestly, I’m worried that he’s dead.”

———

“Do you know something you’re not telling me?” 

At this point, Eames was getting agitated. The fact was that she had been looking for Bobby for a while, whenever she had a free moment. But all leads she had dried up over a year ago and now she would just walk the streets in the area he was supposedly doing his undercover work, hoping she’d run into him. And Benson had just told her that her old partner wasn’t dead.

———

“Why would he be in Chicago?” _No wonder I couldn’t find him_. “What has he done?”

———

“Wait, what? Done ‘to’ him. Olivia, please tell me you’re not implying what I think you’re implying.”

———

“Held captive and raped? Liv, there is no way it could be him. Bobby is a big guy. I don’t think it would even be possible for him to be physically overpowered to the point he would be susceptible to that sort of assault.”

———

“No, it can’t be him. IAFIS isn’t perfect. It could be someone else.”

———

“Positive ID my ass. Who does this Sergeant Voight think he is?”

———

“I don’t care if he thinks he knows what he’s doing? I’m assuming he’s already called the brass over at 1PP.”

At this point in the conversation, Eames had put down her coffee and put her car in drive. Swerving out into traffic and nearly causing an accident.

“I’m just going to go down there myself and clear this whole mess up.”

And with those parting words, Eames abruptly ended the call. She didn’t care if Olivia thought she was being rude. There was just no way something like this could happen to Bobby. 

A text message popped up on her screen from Benson, “Voight’s number is (312)555-6060, in case you want to call him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Olivia Benson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510861)  
>  [Alexandra  Eames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510174)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)


	13. The Brass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The NYPD brass gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

Arriving at One Police Plaza, Eames parked her car and quickly entered the building. She was livid. This was unacceptable. How could anyone believe some backwater cop from Chicago? She wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had stopped her to say steam was coming out of her ears.

Once in the building, she took the first available elevator and punched the number 14 button. She was glad no one else was inside as the doors slide shut, she need a moment to breath and regain some composure. She was going straight to the commissioner. Damn Benson for meddling. Eames would normally never undermine other Lieutenant’s authority but this was Bobby, damnit. _Damn, damn, damn, damn._

It was late in the afternoon and the commissioner’s secretary must’ve been away from his desk. There was no one to stop Eames from heading straight back to the office, not that anyone could have stopped her. She was a force to be reckoned with, despite her small frame and stature. Almost bumping into the door, due to the vehement stride she had taken to get there, she halted, took a breath and knocked.

“Lieutenant Eames,” a beady-eyed thin nosed man said as he opened the door, “come in. We were just talking about you.”

"Deputy Commissioner,” Eames said solemnly, despite her surprise, as she nodded at the man who had opened the door. Eames then acknowledge the square-jawed man sitting at the desk, whom she had come to see, as she stepped into the room. “Commissioner Fahey.”

She hadn’t expected to see the Deputy Commissioner of Intelligence and Counterterrorism, David Cohen. This man had worked for the CIA for years and had been appointed to the position as a response to the 9/11 terrorism attacks. This man wasn’t some mayoral appointee like Raymond Fahey. Granted, Fahey was everyone’s boss but Cohen was still above her in the chain of command, and scary to boot. 

“Take a seat Lieutenant,” said Fahey waving his hand at a chair in front of the desk. The desk was crowded with papers, folders, books, and other office paraphernalia. On top of everything was an open file. Legal filing folders have metal fasteners that loop up through two holes at the top of a page. The fasteners are about three inches long and can hold about 150 pages. This folder was nearly full, it clear was Bobby’s personal file. 

“So, you heard,” Deputy Commissioner Cohen prompted. “From who?”

“Benson, over at SVU,” Eames replied, her voice slightly wavering under the man’s eagle-eyed stare. 

“So much for victim’s privacy,” commented Commissioner Fahey. “This won’t be easy to keep quiet.”

“With all due respect, sir,” said Eames. “Has the identification been legitimized? I frankly find it hard to believe that something of this nature could happen to Goren.”

“Wishful thinking won’t change anything,” replied Fahey. “The sergeant in Chicago sent over all the pertinent information. The ID is credible.”

“As you know, your former partner has quite the reputation,” said Cohen pointing at the folder, “of getting himself into… shall we say unfortunate situations. His mental stability has been called into question a number of times. Not to mention he was required to undergo psychological treatment as a condition of his reinstatement a few years ago after he was suspended for assaulting a defendant in federal custody.”

“I know Goren has had his issues in the past but I don’t see what that has to do with the situation at hand,” replied Eames. “I do know that since he was transferred to organized crimes he’s kept a low profile.”

“Too low,” was Fahey’s response. “Can you tell us when the last time you spoke to Goren?”

“I’m not sure,” said Eames trying to recall the emotional time in her life that was the departure from the major case squad. “Shortly after he had transferred. I… We… He moved on and I… I had just gotten promoted and we… we just drifted apart.”

“So you didn’t know he was missing?” asked Cohen. 

“I knew something wasn’t right,” answered Eames. “I regretted just leaving things the way they were, so I went down to see him one day. His captain, Captain Peterson, told me he was on an undercover assignment, and to leave a message. Which I did but I never heard back. I don’t know how many messages I ended up leaving before I gave up.” She didn’t mention that she had tried to find him by traipsing through his precincts district and asking around at local establishments to see if anyone had seen him, a man his size doesn’t go unnoticed. But any clues she had uncovered had led nowhere. Mentioning this could get her into a sticky situation regarding acting outside of her authority and getting suspended right now would be ill-advised. 

“Did you know that his status within the department had been changed to inactive?” Cohen inquired.

“Inactive,” Eames questioned, “I’m not sure what that even means.”

“It means,” replied Fahey as he leaned forward, “that he was not reported missing or presumed dead. He was not suspended or fired. Captain Peterson simply changed Goren's status within the department and no one was the wiser. The only person that knew Goren was missing was his captain. And it looks like instead of filing a report, Captain Peterson marked him as ‘inactive’ and swept it under the rug.”

“So what happens now,” asked Eames.

“Commissioner Fahey and I will be paying a visit to Captain Peterson,” Deputy Commissioner Cohen responded. “Want to come along?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Alexandra  Eames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510174)  
>  [Raymond Fahey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33520614)  
>  [David Cohen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33521292)
> 
>  
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
> [Quintin Peterson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33521706)


	14. Karma Comes Knocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation with Goren's commanding officer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that there are some original male characters in this and the previous chapter. They are not terribly important, merely roles that need momentary filling for the sake of plot. As the reader, I don't expect you to remember them for any later chapters.
> 
> See End Notes for Character List :)

At this time of day, given the traffic, it was about a 20-minute ride over to the precinct where the organized crime division was located. Eames sat in the back seat as the two men with her were in the front. Fahey had given her the file that Voight had faxed over from Chicago. Paging through it, she felt sick.

According to the file, Voight and his crew had shown up at a residence because of an anonymous 911 call. Upon entering the house they found the unconscious victim (she wasn’t going to admit it was Bobby, not yet) locked in a basement and chained to the floor, with two broken legs. The victim was transferred to the nearest hospital where doctors confirmed he had been raped, beaten, and malnourished over an extended period of time. There were also pictures. One of a gaunt man laying on a hospital gurney. (Eames didn’t think he looked anything like her old partner.) There were additional pictures of injuries and a few x-rays showing broken bones. The other photos were of a barren basement floor smattered with flecks of blood and a chain bolted to the floor. Of the two suspects, one was already in custody, having been arrested for a DUI earlier in the night. The other man had left town, but the Chicago cops were hopeful that he would return before realizing that he was a suspect. 

“Did Voight say if the victim regained consciousness?” Eames asked.

“He did,” replied Fahey, “but apparently Goren isn’t talking.”

“Oh,” was Eames only response. She disliked the commissioner referring to the victim by name. Especially since the Goren she knew had trouble keeping his mouth closed. He always had something to say. She’d be sitting in the car with him and then all of a sudden he would start talking about the namesake of the street they were traveling. “Did you know so-and-so was renowned for this-or-that but actually wasn’t officially recognized until after he/she had died?” Or maybe they’d be in China town and he would start rambling on about different dynasties and how the art of the period reflected the cultural standing of ordinary citizens. He was bursting with random trivia. So the idea of him refusing to talk was completely out of character for him. 

It wasn’t long until they reached their destination. It was almost 5:00 pm and Eames was worried Captain Peterson would have left already left for the day. It was the weekend after all. The two men led the way, Eames trailing along behind them. She wasn’t sure what they had planned and it made her nervous.

They reached Captain Peterson’s door.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

“Come in,” a voice called from within.

“Captain Peterson,” the Commissioner said as he and the Deputy Commissioner step inside the office.

“Commissioner Fahey and Deputy Commissioner Cohen,” Peterson said, the shock audible in his voice. “I wasn’t expecting you. To what do I owe this visit?”

Then he caught sight of Eames, still standing in the doorway.

“Oh,” Peterson said, glaring at Eames, “you’re here about Goren, aren’t you?”

“Do you know where he is?” Cohen asked.

“No,” the captain replied tersely, “I do not.”

“And why is that?” Fahey inquired.

“Because,” Peterson replied acrimoniously, “the man is a whack-job. And I simply cannot be held accountable for his erratic behavior.”

“Erratic behavior,” Cohen admonished, “is what Goren is known for. You knew that when you took him on. Now, if you don’t know where he is, then tell us what you do know.”

“About two years ago, he was out on an undercover assignment. We were coming close to having all the evidence we needed to make an arrest when Goren stopped showing up to his scheduled debriefings. At that point, there was nothing I could do without blowing up the whole case. So I had some of my other guys look for him, while the rest of us carried on without him.”

“Is that when you marked his status as inactive?” asked Fahey.

“Okay,” replied Peterson, “that might’ve been a mistake. But we had so much riding on the case at the time, I thought it was best just to deal with the situation without too much commotion.”

“So what you are saying is one of your detectives goes missing for two years and you do nothing. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Eames here comes looking for him and you flat out lie to her about his whereabouts.”

“Let’s be realistic here,” Peterson said defensively. “An undercover officer goes missing. Nine times out ten, it’s because he’s dead. So do I undermine an important case just so we can do an investigation into his disappearance? What are the chances we would even find a body?” he asked rhetorically. “So I did what was best for the department and the city as a whole. We spent our limited resources catching the bad guys. I was just doing my job. It’s not like Goren had a family. And no offense Lieutenant, but what friends he had were few and far between.”

“You should’ve submitted a report,” said Eames angrily. “You should’ve followed protocol. Now Goren is… He’s …” Her voice caught in her throat. Emotion was overwhelming her, preventing her from speaking.

“He’s what?” Peterson asked. “He’s dead? Nothing I can do about that.”

“The reason Goren went missing, isn’t because he was murdered,” Cohen stated quietly.

“Let me guess,” was Peterson’s inharmonious and mocking response, “Goren ran off and joined the circus.”

“No,” replied Fahey. “He was chained in a basement for the last two years enduring the worst kind of treatment imaginable.”

“And,” Deputy Commissioner Cohen added, “maybe if you had done your job and filed missing person’s report, we would’ve found him earlier.”

“Goren’s misfortunes are not my fault,” Peterson said impertinently. “The man was unbearable. I’m not surprised someone finally decided he needed to learn a lesson. Whatever has happened to him, Goren had it coming.”

“Oh,” said Cohen with a quiet sarcasm. “You think he deserved to be repetitively raped and have his legs broken. You think he brought that on himself.”

“Well…” Peterson replied hesitantly.

“Like it or not,” the Commissioner stated. “He was on the job under your supervision. It’s your duty to look after the welfare of your detectives. And you have failed, miserably.”

“Listen,” the Captain said desperately, “you didn’t know the guy. If you had, you would’ve done the same thing I did.”

“I don’t care if you didn’t like the guy,” said Cohen. “you were still responsible for him.”

“Not much I can do about that now, is there?” Peterson said.

“You can start by cleaning out your desk,” replied Commissioner Fahey.

“Wait, you’re firing me? Because of Goren?”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Cohen replied coolly. “You are lucky you’re not facing obstruction charges.”

“But—“ the Captain began to speak in opposition but was quickly cut off.

“You have 10 minutes, collect your things, leave your gun and badge,” stated Fahey. “I’m sure Lieutenant Eames here would be happy to escort you from the building if necessary."

***

Eames couldn’t help feeling smug as she walked from the precinct with the Commissioner and Deputy Commissioner. Peterson was a dick and she was happy he got his comeuppance.

“Lieutenant,” Deputy Commissioner Cohen said, calling for her attention, “we’ll be needing someone to fly to Chicago to be our liaison there. I’m assuming you’ll be going there regardless of any assignment you may or may not have.”

“ _Er_ …,” Eames mumbled. The truth was she wasn’t sure she even wanted to go to Chicago. If she went, then it would mean that she was convinced the victim was Bobby. She still had her doubts. 

“If you want incontrovertible proof that the victim is who the cops in Chicago think he is, then you’ll have to be the one to do it,” Fahey said sympathetically.

“I’ll speak to your chief over at the task force,” Cohen prodded gently. “Have someone take over your current workload. We need you in Chicago. Goren is still technically a detective with the department. We’ll have his employment status updated to an extended leave of absence for now. But we need someone to orchestrate this whole mess. It is our duty to see that he is taken care of. Bring our boy home.”

“What about things here in New York,” asked Eames. “Who is going to investigate his disappearance?”

“Let us worry about that for now,” replied the Commissioner. “You just worry about getting on the next available flight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
>  [Alexandra  Eames](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510174)  
>  [Raymond Fahey](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33520614)  
>  [David Cohen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33521292)  
> [Quintin Peterson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33521706)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)


	15. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee take a flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

It was just a two-hour flight from Sioux Falls to Chicago, but to Barrett, it seemed like an eternity. The stress must’ve shown on his face because the large woman next to him seemed eager to cheer him up.

“Going home?” she asked cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Lee replied brusquely, not wanting to converse.

“Oh, that must be nice,” replied the woman. “Did you enjoy your time in Sioux Falls?”

Enjoy his time in Sioux Falls? Ha! It had been a nightmare. He hadn’t found who he had been looking for. Year after year, he and Dean had crisscrossed the country looking for the girl they had lost. The first five years of her life, the two of them had done their best to teach her obedience and keep her in optimal experimental condition. Not wanting so sort of feral child on their hands, they had painstakingly treated her in such a manner that would prevent any sort of stagnated development. But despite their efforts, she was unruly. She would not sit still, she would not listen, she would not comply with directions. She would go into these fits of rage and become defiant. It had been a mistake to consult a child psychologist about her behavior, but at the time it seemed like their only option. 

Lee, using a false identity, had contacted a psychologist that specialized in childhood behavioral disorders. He had conversed with this man at great lengths, but the shrink had insisted on seeing the child in person before he would make any sort of diagnosis or treatment plan. But a significant problem was the girl only spoke Latin. 

Dean and Lee had met in a college Latin course, a very useful language for anyone in the medical profession. They had fallen in love with the language and each other. It was a different time, back then. Unable to profess their love in a public setting, they spent hours alone studying together. Latin became their love language. And when they were together, they rarely spoke anything else. So it was only natural for them to speak Latin with their daughter. 

When Lee had mentioned that they typically only spoke Latin in their home, the psychologist laughed, saying not to worry about it and that many children grow up speaking a foreign language at home. His fears subsided, Lee took their little girl to a session. She was a good girl and remained calm and did as directed. After evaluating her, the psychologist said he would need to do just one more session and that it would be best if this time Lee wasn’t present. When Lee had gone home and told Dean, Dean was adamantly against the idea of leaving their daughter alone with a man they barely knew. But Lee had insisted. Besides, she would be fine. He’d even let her bring along her teddy bear for emotional support. 

It would turn out to be the biggest mistake of his life, leaving her alone. He had returned to the clinic, only to be confronted by the enraged psychologist. The man was blathering something about child abuse when Barrett punched him in the throat. Grabbing his neck and falling backward, the psychologist had reached for the phone, presumably to call the police. Not wanting this to happen, Barrett beat the man unconscious. Then Lee started searching the rooms for his little girl, but she was nowhere to be found. 

With no other opinions available to him, Lee had loaded the limp figure into the trunk of his car and driven home. Dean was furious. But there was nothing to be done except to wait for their captive to regain consciousness so they could interrogate him. They didn’t have to wait long, but the man was stubborn. He would not tell them anything, at first, despite their methods of persuasion. It wasn’t until after they had removed his fingers and that he started talking. The psychologist told them how he had seen the scars on the girl’s back and had taken her to the hospital for a physical evaluation. 

“It won’t be long,” the man had said, coughing up blood that dribbled down his chin. “The cops will be here any minute. You won’t get away with what you have done.”

That’s when Lee cut the man’s throat. 

Dean went to the hospital, he had friends there. Under the pretense of wanting to check some medical data for information he could use on his current research project, Dean gained access to the hospital files. However, there were no records of any child being admitted to the hospital that matched their daughter’s description. It was like she had disappeared into thin air. 

They used all the resources at their disposal to try and track her down. But every turn they took came up empty. They never stopped looking but eventually, they turned their focus to finding another test subject. The proliferation of the internet turned out to be their most valuable asset.

And thanks to the internet, Lee had traveled to Sioux Falls, after his Google Alerts had notified that someone there was selling a brown teddy bear with a red bow tie, exactly like the one their daughter had been holding the last time they saw her. 

“Sir?” the heavy-set woman prodded. “Did you enjoy your time in Sioux Falls?”

Startled from his trip down memory lane, Barrett glared at the woman, answered her question with a negative response, and then turning towards the window of the plane, gave her the cold shoulder.

“ _Dean_ ,” Lee thought, “ _what have you done?_ ”

Another DUI, this could be bad. Hopefully, Dean could get off with just a fine or a suspended license. The last thing they need was for him to go to prison or have some sort of probation. Lee didn’t want to imagine how hard it would be to have to have a probation officer coming around unannounced. What would they do with Bobby?

Bobby was probably awake by now, writhing in pain from his broken legs. The thought gave Lee shivers of pleasure. He just hoped Dean had had sense enough to make sure the bones had been set and stabilized before leaving the house. Otherwise, they would need to be re-broken.

A deep sigh escaped Barrett’s lips as the plane finally touched down, on the dimly lit runway. He needed to get home and minimize the damage. Dean would just have to wait until morning. Besides, it would probably be another day until Dean would have a bail hearing. 

As Lee exited the ramp into the terminal, he was approached by a grizzled man with a mustache like a walrus. “Lee Barrett?”

“Who want’s to know?” Lee asked.

The man held up a badge and said, “Chicago PD. Come with me.”

Turning to run, Lee came face to face with two intimating figures, a woman and a Latino male.

“What’s this about?” Lee asked apprehensively.

“Take a wild guess,” remarked the Latino officer.

“Lee Barrett,” the woman said as she pulled out a pair of cuffs, “you are under arrest for rape. Put your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Lee Barrett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509922)  
>  [Alvin Olinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511029)  
>  [Antonio Dawson](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511509)  
>  [Erin Lindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511608)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)  
> [Dean Kipling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510054)


	16. Detained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrett isn't happy about being arrested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See End Notes for Character List :)

The man on the other side of the two-way mirror was having, for a lack of a better term, a tantrum.  He was pacing around anxiously, smacking his fist against the wall, kicking at the chairs and table, and yelling profanities.

“Hank,” Olinsky said as he came into the room, stopping beside the sergeant and joining him in observing the angry man on the other side of the glass. “Here’s that warrant you wanted.” Olinsky handed Voight the legal papers. “Are you going to go in there or just watch him sweat it out?”

With a sigh, Voight held up the papers and said, “It would probably be best if we got this warrant for his DNA enforced so we can get it off to the lab right away. Though I would prefer just to go in there and teach that son of a bitch a lesson.”

“Doctor Barrett,” Hank said calmly as he entered the interrogation room, “take a seat.”

“Go fuck yourself,” was Lee’s reply.

“Take a seat or I will have you restrained,” Hank said sternly. He meant it too.

Not breaking eye-contact with the sergeant. Lee pulled out a chair and sat down with a huff. “I want to see my lawyer,” he said venomously.

“Of course,” replied Hank, “and we’ve reached out to your legal counsel. They should be sending someone soon.”

“I’m not saying a word to you, I know my rights.”

“That is completely your choice, I’m not here to ask you any questions. I’m just here to serve you this,” Hank said as he dropped the warrant on the table.

Picking up the folded papers, Lee looked through them before saying, “I’m not giving you a DNA sample.”

“Well,” said Hank, “you can either give us a sample or we can take it by force.”

“You have no right.”

“I have every right.”

“I didn’t rape anyone.”

“Doctor Barrett, I’m going to remind you that you have asked for a lawyer. So I can no longer question you without your counsel present. But if you would like to waive your right to counsel by continuing to talk, then I’d be more than happy to discuss the charges with you. Either way, I’ll be getting that DNA sample.”

Hank wanted to do more than just question the guy. He wanted to knock him down, put his hand around his throat, and choke him to death as we watch the light fade from his eyes. 

The cool and even tone of the sergeant’s gravelly voice did nothing to calm the suspect. Barrett was more enraged than ever. He stood up, grabbed the warrant, and tore it in half, throwing the pieces at Voight. “You want a DNA sample, here’s your fucking sample,” Lee snarled before spitting directly into Voight’s face.

Without losing his composure, Hank drew his hand up to his face and wiped the spittle away. Hank looked down at the moisture on his hand then back up at the suspect. With reflexes honed by years of police work, Hank’s hand shot out as he smacked Lee across the face with an open hand. If the sergeant’s fist had been closed, it would’ve left a mark. 

Stunned, Lee took a step back, tripping over the leg of the chair behind him and falling to the ground. Voight was on him in less than a second, pulling Barrett up by the front of his shirt and forcefully pushing him onto the bench against the wall. Before Lee could even process what was happening, Voight had him handcuffed to the secure metal pole attached horizontally to the wall. 

“How dare you lay your hands on me, you fucking cunt,” Barrett raged.

“Oh, I’m going to do a lot more than put my hands on you,” Hank replied his voice now quivering in anger. “I’m going to see that you spend the rest of your miserable life in prison. Where ever mother-fucking thug in the place will want a piece of your sorry ass. You will know exactly how it feels to be forcefully broken in a desolate place with no hope and no one to save you.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Lee said assuredly. 

“No, and why is that?” asked Hank. 

“Because I have done nothing wrong. The man you think I’ve raped, he’s our boyfriend. I know a closed-minded simpleton like you doesn’t have the capacity to understand the more abstract concepts of human sexuality. But believe me, as soon as my lawyer gets here, you will pay for what you’ve done. I will sue you for wrongful detainment, assault, and for discrimination.”

“I’ll guess we’ll just have to wait and see. But trust me, I won’t be holding my breathe.”

There was a knock at the door and Hank walked over to allow the Detective Erin Lindsay into the room. She was wearing rubber gloves and holding a DNA collection kit. 

“Everything alright in here,” she asked.

“Oh,” Voight said behind a mask of perfect composure, “just peachy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you would like to see a clip of Voight in action, I've attached a [link](https://youtu.be/vBHKK3uUNqw) to a youtube clip. Ignore Halstead, he's annoying, skip ahead to 1:30.
> 
> Characters in this Chapter:  
> [Lee Barrett](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509922)  
>  [Alvin Olinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511029)  
>  [Hank Voight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33510282)  
>  [Erin Lindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33511608)
> 
> Characters Mentioned:  
> [Robert Goren](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33509454)


	17. The Psychiatrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Charles at work.

“Doctor Charles,” the hospital’s chief administrator, [Sharon Goodwin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33512265) said as she poked her head into the psychiatrist’s office, “are you going home soon? It’s getting late.”

Charles lifted his gaze from the case study he had been reading. He had spent most of his day reading up on cases concerning victims of prolonged captivity and sexual abuse. Society tended to only focus on the trauma and the subsequent judicial proceedings but then lose interest in the long-term ramifications the victims of such crimes had to endure. The coping mechanisms victims used to survive such an ordeal would subsequently hinder their recovery process. The unfortunate truth was that most victims fell into mental instability, substance abuse, and subsequent re-victimization. Things were not looking optimistic for his patient.

“Sharon,” Dr. Charles replied, “I didn’t realize what time it was. Please, come in.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you if you’re busy. I just wanted to find out how the John Doe is doing. Have you heard from Sergeant Voight, at all?”

“I have actually. And he’s not a John Doe anymore, they were able to get a match on the prints. His name is Robert Goren. Voight gave me as much information as he could. The guy was a detective in New York City for years before he disappeared. I also was able to find out that he had mandatory therapy sessions after he was reinstated after a suspension. Luckily, I was able to track down and speak to his former therapist, a Doctor Gyson. She said that besides the fact that his mother suffered from paranoid schizophrenia, he was also dealing with the usual anger, trust, and commitment issues that are typical for members of law enforcement. But nothing so severe that would cause him to be mentally unstable.”

“So his current mental state is a result of his captivity. Have you been able to determine a diagnosis?”

“No. Not yet. I need to spend more time with him before I do that. But I’m leaning towards Stockholm syndrome coupled with a dissociative state. 

“Stockholm, really? You think he bonded with attackers?”

“It would be hard not to, on some level. You don’t spend years with someone without developing some form of attachment. He is clearly loyal to them. Whether it’s because of love or fear, I do not know. His refusal to speak also indicates that he has dissociated himself from the outside world.”

“Will you be able to help him?”

“I certainly hope so.”

***

Walking up to the main desk in the psychiatric unit, Dr. Charles stopped to speak with the charge nurse.

“Anything to report on the patient in room 3B?” Dr. Charles asked.

“Nothing noteworthy. He has barely moved. We tried getting him to eat earlier but nothing came of it,” replied the nurse.

“Thank you,” said Charles, “I’m just going to check on him real quick before I head out.”

Bobby had been placed in a psychiatric observation room. The inside wall and the door were glass so that the entire room was visible to medical staff. The other three walls were painted white and the window was covered by a metal grate. As Dr. Charles walked towards the room, he could see the patient’s head was turned away from the glass, his attention focused at the window on the city street lights penetrating the dark night sky. Not wanting to startle the man, Charles knocked lightly on the door before entering.

“Mr. Goren,” the psychiatrist spoke softly, “I would like to have a word with you before I leave for the night.”

The figure sitting on the bed remained unmoved.

“Today must’ve been very difficult for you,” Dr. Charles said as he slowly approached the bed. “And I don’t pretend to know what you are experiencing. The men who… whose home you were found in, those feelings you have for them… I would suppose that those feelings are complex and conflicting. That those feelings keep you from talking.”

Dr. Charles was now at the foot of the bed, and though Bobby was looking away, the tear streaks down his cheeks were evident. 

“Mr. Goren?… Robert?… Is it okay if I call you by your first name?” Dr. Charles asked.

Bobby’s lips remained motionless but he closed his eyes slowly before opening them again. Charles took this for a yes.

“Robert, I want you to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to feel hurt, lost, sad, scared, confused, or any other emotion you might be feeling. It’s also okay if you are feeling conflicted about being here. If you maybe feel glad to be away from that house and those men, that’s okay too.”

The tears running down the patient’s cheeks must’ve been bothering him because he moved his hand as if to wipe them away. But the soft restraints, around his wrists and connected to either side of the bed, prevented him from reaching his face. Dejectedly, he placed his hand back down on the bed.

“Here,” said Dr. Charles as he stepped forward and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, “allow me.”

When Bobby did not move away, Charles gently reached forward and wiped away the tears with the soft fabric.

“I’m sorry,” stated the psychiatrist, “about the restraints. I really am. I would’ve preferred not to use them. You don’t deserve to be restrained. But that incident with the defibrillator gave us all a bit of a scare. So, unfortunately, the restraints are deemed necessary… for now. But I don’t want you to feel like you are being punished. We just have a certain protocol we have to follow. I hope you understand that it’s for your safety.”

Charles paused, hoping the patient would give some sort of response. But none came. 

“Maybe tomorrow, we can see about getting those off for a bit. Would you like that?”

The patient stared past him, his eyes still riveted to the window.

With a heavy sigh, the psychiatrist patted the edge of the bed before saying goodbye and departing the room. The truth was that Charles would like nothing better than to gather up the frail man in his arms and hold him tightly. Rocking him back and forth, while smoothing his hand through the dark and ever so slightly curly hair, like one would do to a child. To comfort him and soothe him, to tell him everything was going to be alright, these were the things Charles _wished_ he could do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Eames...


	18. Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames arrives in Chicago.

There was a smudge of white paint on the instep of her right shoe. Eames had noticed it as she had taken off her shoes to go through the security checkpoint at the LaGuardia airport. For some reason, this blotch of white snagged her attention and wouldn’t let it go. She just kept looking down at her shoes, focusing on the contrasting color. When the boarding announcement was made, Eames didn’t register the call had been made. She would’ve missed the flight altogether if the gate attendant hadn’t paged, “Passenger Alexandra Eames, please report to gate C9.”

Once on the plane, it finally dawned on Eames the circumstance in which her shoe had been scuffed with paint. She had been packing for the trip. Unsure of how long she would be in Chicago, Eames packed five days worth of clothing. She was just trying to decide which pairs of shoes she should bring when she remembered how Goren would always look at peoples’ shoes. “You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes,” he had said.

Looking down at the pair of black, thick heeled, leather boots in her hands, she wondered what Goren would say these shoes said about her: orderly, professional, tasteful, lacking in the height department. Suddenly a wave of irrational anger crashed over her, and she threw the shoes across the room, most likely scuffing paint off the wall. The shoes were quickly followed by the contents of the suitcase and then the suitcase itself. Finally, when there was nothing left to throw, she threw herself onto her bed and cried. 

Blinking away the moisture that had gathered in the corner of her eye, Eames did her best to move her thoughts away from her old partner. She had a job to do. There wasn’t time to get overly sentimental. Still, the thoughts lingered.

“ _Dear Lord_ ,” she prayed silently, “ _don’t let it be him_.”

Bobby had been through so much already. Coming from a broken home, where his mother’s illness both frightened him and made him ashamed. His hard work within the department undermined by accusations of mental instability and volatile behavior. Then the death of his mother followed shortly by his brother’s murder had left him disoriented. It wasn’t fair.

Rubbing her face, anxiously she wondered what she would say to him. How could she explain that she hadn’t turned over every stone to find him? He didn’t sleep… when she went missing. A few hours of being the captive of a sadistic murder and it had scarred her. She still had the occasional nightmare involving screams, blood, and pinking shears. But Bobby hadn’t stopped looking. She had seen it in his eyes at the hospital, all those years ago as she told him what had happened. He was a mess then. What would he be like now? Would he refuse to speak to her? Would she be able to get through to him, like he could victims?

***

It took every ounce of strength she had to put her emotions back in their box and under control, by the time the plane landed at O’Hare. Not wanting to disrupt the investigation, Eames had notified the Intelligence Unit that she would be coming but not when exactly she would arrive. The last thing she wanted was to have a bunch of detectives breathing down her neck the moment her plane landed.

Eames exited the airport, walking the short distance to the car rental terminal. The tedious nature of filling out the rental application was a welcome distraction from the storm clouds brewing in her mind. She got the keys and found her nondescript vehicle, taking a moment to familiarize herself with the controls before starting up the engine and peeling out of the parking garage with the screech of tires.

“ _Damn_ ,” she thought, “ _it feels good to get behind the wheel_.” She sped up, ignoring the speed limit and getting on I-90, as she headed southeast towards the 21st precinct. Throwing caution to the wind, Eames practically flew down the interstate. The feeling of power and control she derived from driving were particularly intoxicating, given the present circumstances. But driving an unfamiliar vehicle at excess speeds was not a wise decision. 

Huge bits of twisted metal and mangled tires were the only evidence that the object had once been an automobile. Smoke was gushing from what had once been the hood of the vehicle. The other cars in the immediate vicinity had slowed to barely a crawl as they wound their way around the wreckage, the passengers gawking at the sheer destruction. The wail of police and fire sirens approached. 

Eames was lucky she had slowed down in time to avoid the wreck. Her hasty actions behind the wheel had almost involved her in the accident ahead. Seeing the broken heap of metal and glass did wonders to sober her up as she drove cautiously the rest of the way. 

Once Eames pulled up in front of the austere two-story red brick building, she turned off the car and took a deep breath and then another. She could do this. But still, she did not get out of the car. She sat there silently for what seemed like hours. Time momentarily lost its meaning.

How she got up the front stairs, through the door, and at the front desk, Eames did not know. But without knowing how she got there, she suddenly facing a stern looking woman with straight gray hair. The name badge the woman wore was inscribed with the word, “[PLATT](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504409/chapters/33522111),” on the right side of her chest, a star-shaped badge on the left. She was busy writing something down in a logbook and didn’t bother looking up as Eames approached the desk.

“Can I help you?” the desk sergeant asked dismissively.

“Uh…” Eames said uncertainly, “I’m here about the case Intelligence is working.”

At this point Platt looked up, her eyebrows raised. “And you are?”…

“Lieutenant Alexandra Eames, NYPD.”

The pen fell from Platt’s hand as her face immediately soften. “You’re his partner?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” replied Eames, “I mean I was. I used to be. But that was before he transferred. And before he was…” She trailed off not wanting to voice the words abducted or kidnapped or raped. 

Trudy Platt came around the desk and wrapped her arms around the small-statured lieutenant. Closing her eyes, Eames leaned into the hug. She didn’t realize it until this very moment, but she had been desperate for someone to acknowledge the pain she was feeling and to comfort her. 

Preemptively wiping away unshed tears, Eames apologized, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be the one feeling sorry for myself. I’m not the victim.”

“No need to apologize, my dear,” said Platt kindly. “Unfortunately, something similar happened to one of our own not too long ago. Nadia was an assistant here when she was kidnapped, raped, and murdered. So I understand what you’re going through and it isn’t easy.”

“Thank you,” was all Eames could say quietly in reply.

“Don’t mention it. Now come. Follow me. I’ll buzz you upstairs.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to have Eames go over evidence and confront Lee & Dean in this chapter as well but it would've been a much longer chapter and I wanted to get something up fairly quickly. Don't worry, I'll get around to writing it soon.
> 
> How did you readers like the car crash scene?


	19. Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Charles pays Bobby another visit.

Frizzy, that was the word that came to mind as Bobby stared at the young Dr. Reese. Not that frizzy was necessarily a bad thing, but it just contributed to the idea that she was unprofessional and consequently he did not trust her. He was also feeling irritated. Irritation, anger, and other similar feelings were practically foreign to him now. Those feelings were only liabilities, bound to get him in trouble with his Daddies. But his Daddies weren’t here now, and so the feelings he had suppressed for so long were beginning to bubble to the surface.

“Robert,” Dr. Reese said, “I would really appreciate it if you ate something.”

Reese had brought in a tray of food and had undone the restraint on his right hand so he could feed himself. But Bobby did not want to eat. The pain in his legs, radiating up his core, made him nauseous.  He did not want to be in a situation that involved vomit and the inability to move. Besides, he wasn’t allowed to feed himself. And even if he was allowed and he felt like eating, he certainly wouldn’t use his right, non-dominate, hand. Irritated, he pushed the food away.

“You need to eat,” Reese said firmly, pushing the tray back towards him.

Who did the girl think she was? She certainly was not in-charge of him. She had no right to tell him what to do. Honestly, her very presence would probably get him in trouble with his Daddies. Why couldn’t he just be back home? It was so much simpler and easier to understand what he was supposed to do there. Here, it was just a giant confused mess. He hated it here. And he hated her. 

The surge of raw emotion forced its way through him. Fiercely, Bobby forced the tray off onto the floor. There was a loud clatter, and food splattered everywhere, including onto Reese. She looked at him angrily but he could see the anger was the only thing keeping her from crying, her eyes glistening. She stepped forward to place his hand back into the restraint and Bobby instinctively drew back with a yelp. 

“What’s going on in here?” Dr. Charles said as he walked into the room. “Dr. Reese?”

With a huff, she replied, “I just can’t right now.” And she stormed out of the room.

Bobby looked at the psychiatrist apprehensively. He shouldn’t have acted out. The consequences would be unpleasant. Undoubtedly, Dr. Charles would have to punish him now. Expecting to see disappointment in the doctor’s eyes, Bobby looked down at his free hand, now resting in his lap. He didn’t want to be a disappointment, he didn’t want to be punished, he didn’t want any of this. 

Silently, Dr. Charles picked up the overturned tray and placed the dish-ware and plastic utensils on top before setting it to the side. Carefully avoiding the remaining food on the floor, he pulled the chair sitting in the corner up alongside the bed. Then without a word, he sat down and let out a deep breath.

Still, Bobby could not bring himself to look at the doctor. The anticipation of the forth-coming punishment was making him anxious. What would Dr. Charles do to him? Would he hit him, force him to eat until he threw up, or touch him in ways that only the Daddies were allowed to do? Each thought sent waves of panic through his body and his heart rate began to increase.

Seeing that his patient was on the verge of having an anxiety attack, Dr. Charles said softly and gently, “Robert, please look at me?”

The panic had now set in and Bobby did not comply with the request.

“Please, Robert…”

Short, quick, and ragged breathes escaped Bobby’s lips as he closed his eyes against the imagined terrors surrounding him. 

“You are not in trouble. All I am asking is for you to look at me,” Charles continued. “Robert… Robert… Please, Robert.”

Finally, Bobby lifted his head and peered over at the doctor. 

“Okay, there you are. Thank you, Robert. Just one more thing I need you to do. Can you try and match your breathing to mine?”

“ _No_ ,” thought Bobby, “ _I can’t. I’ve been bad. I should be punished. Why aren’t you punishing me_?”

“Just breathe with me. Come on, you can do it. It’s just breathing. You aren’t breaking any rules by doing this for me, I promise.”

Reluctantly following directions, Bobby matched his breathing pattern to the slow and deliberate pace the doctor had set. After a few minutes, he had calmed down. Dr. Charles very slowly and carefully reached over and placed his own hand on top of Bobby’s.

“Thank you for listening. I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. Now,” said Charles as he picked up Bobby’s free hand and set it back in the restraint before securing it, “I know I talked to you yesterday about getting these restraints off. But it seems like I spoke a bit too soon. I don’t want you to worry about it though. These things take time and we have time, no need to rush. Everything is going to be okay, I promise.”

“ _Okay_?” Bobby thought. “ _How is any of this okay? I am in a strange place, surrounded by people I don’t know. And I don’t know where my Daddies are, or if they are even coming back for me. No one is telling me anything. I’m so confused and lost and scared …_ ”

“I’m sorry about Dr. Reese earlier,” Charles said. “She has a tendency to see things in black and white. It’s hard for her to understand why you are so resistant to what she perceives as needed assistance. But she’s young, she still has time to learn.

“You, on the other hand, have been through enough tough experiences that there isn’t much you aren’t capable of dealing with.”

This last remark almost had Bobby snorting with comical disbelief. Did Charles really think he was dealing with the situation well? 

A hint of a smile must’ve crossed his face because Charles responded saying, “I’m being serious, Robert. It is incredibly difficult to deal with situations where you are not able to communicate that you are simply acting in a way that preserves your best interests. The manner in which you are conducting yourself shows your ability to persevere despite having gone through, what many would consider, the worst things that can happen to a man. I am remarkably proud of you.”

Proud, the word echoed in his head. How could anyone be proud of him? He was a worthless whore who had sex with men whose names he did not know. He had tried to kill himself multiple times and would try again if the opportunity presented itself. He was restrained to a bed in a mental ward because they obviously thought him mentally unstable. Really, what was there to be proud of? Bobby shook his head, not in response to Charles statement, but to get rid of the conflicted ideas swimming around his brain.

Charles must’ve seen it as a response because he said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself Robert. It will get easier with time. It’s been less than 48 hours. No one is expecting you to simply disengage from the life you have been living for the past two years. For now, you just take your time. Breath easy my friend. It’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note about Dr. Charles's decision to refer to Bobby as "Robert" over and over again. Whether you are trying to sell something, do well in a job interview, or trying to make friends, using the person's name you are addressing multiple times is a way of building a connection. Dr. Charles is desperately trying to build a connection between himself and Bobby and to hopefully connect Bobby back to the real world. Robert is Bobby's real name after all, not just a nickname. And it's a name that his Daddies never used. Bobby does not associate the name Robert with the man held captive by Lewis & Clark. And Dr. Charles can see that the name Robert isn't triggering a negative response, so he keeps using it. Okay, I've rambled enough now. Hopefully, I haven't told you guys something that you didn't already know and this is just an unnecessary delineation.


	20. Apprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames speaks with Voight.

Once Platt had escorted Eames upstairs to the Intelligence Unit, some of the unease and apprehension she was feeling lifted. Being a cop was in her blood, if there was a job to do, she would do it, feelings aside.

She had been greeted by an older detective with a mustache, Detective Olinsky. Subsequently, she was introduced to two other detectives and an officer: a Latino man, Detective Dawson, a pretty but steel-jawed woman, Detective Lindsay, and a black man, Officer Atwater. Then Sergeant Voight emerged from his office, his hand extended. 

“Welcome to Chicago,” he said. “If you don’t mind coming into my office, I’ll bring you up to speed.”

Eames followed the stocky man into his office. He offered her a seat before shutting the door. Glancing back over her shoulder and through the door window, she looked at the group of cops huddled together. Their heads bent as they undoubtedly discussed their first impressions of her.

“I wished you would’ve told us when you were planning on getting here,” Voight said as he sat down at his desk, capturing her attention away from the window. “I would’ve sent one of my guys around to pick you up.” 

“I didn’t want to disrupt the investigation,” Eames replied.

“You are not a disruption. In fact, I am glad you are here. We could use the help of a seasoned investigator. Besides, we still have yet to get Goren to talk, so —“

“Are you absolutely sure it’s him?” Eames blurted out interrupting the sergeant. 

“Yes,” said Voight gently but firmly. “We got the fingerprint match from IAFIS and the DNA match from CODIS shortly thereafter. Though I must say, I am surprised that you came here first… before the hospital.”

“I… I just didn’t want to see him… at least not until I know everything I need to know.”

“I’m not going to say that’s what I would’ve done in your shoes, but I know where you’re coming from. Well, if you want to know everything I’ll apprise you of everything. Where do you want to start?”

“The beginning preferably. The information I have says that you were investigating a 911 call when you found him. What did the 911 call entail and who made it?”

Voight rubbed his face and gave the lieutenant discerning look before he spoke. “How comfortable are you with bending the rules?”

“Why? What happened?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I may have looked the other way from time to time but only when the situation called for it. It’s not part of my day-to-day.”

“Hmmpft,” was Voight’s reaction as he pursed his lips together in a frown. 

“Whatever it is, I have a right to know.”

“We didn’t enter the dwelling because of the 911 call. I had a run in with Kipling after he had been arrested for a DUI. It gave me a feeling I could not shake, so I made a judgment call to go and check out his place.”

“You didn’t have probable cause to enter?!”

“There was a life-threatening emergency.”

“But you didn’t know that before you entered. Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I was just planning to go in, have a look around, and get out. With no one the wiser. But instead…”

“Instead you found Bobby.”

“Yeah.”

“So the 911 call?…”

“Was just to cover our bases before we entered, Olinsky had a CI make it.”

“A judge will see right through that. You’ve sunk this case from the get-go.”

“Don’t be so certain, besides we got a warrant before we collected any evidence.”

“Then I hope your evidence is pretty damn compelling.”

“It is. DNA on the semen came back positive on both of our suspects. The doctors confirmed there were signs of forceful penetration and tearing. Goren’s physical condition is consistent with someone who has been held captive over an extended period of time. Not to mention his mental state is compromised.”

“Compromised? What do you mean compromised? The file only said that he wasn’t speaking to investigators.”

“Compromised as in he’s not talking or communicating in any way to anyone. He’ll barely look at you. He flinches when anyone gets near him. And…”

“And…? And what?”

“He’s suicidal.”

“No, not Bobby. He would never.”

“He is. Right after they had gotten him out of surgery and were letting him rest, he crawled out of bed, got a hold of a defibrillator and stopped his heart.”

Eames was so shocked by what Voight had just told her, that she couldn’t respond.

“It’s not the first time either.”

“What do you mean, not the first time?”

“He has some pretty significant scars on his wrists, indicating that yesterday was not his first suicide attempt.”

Standing up from her chair, Eames started to pace the room. This man Voight was describing was not the man she knew. The Bobby she knew was fearless (in a reckless sort of way) and confident. He wouldn’t flinch away from another person’s touch. He wouldn’t try and kill himself. He wouldn’t be in this situation. How had things gotten so bad? 

“Okay, so what else is there?” she asked.

“Goren’s fingerprints in the house.”

“Obviously.”

“Both on the main floor and in the basement.”

“Oh.”

“We have both their home and work computers being gone over by our technicians but they have yet to find anything incriminating.”

“What about cloud storage?”

“So far we haven’t found anything to indicate they have any.”

“Another dead end then.”

“Other objects found were chains, cuffs, and oddly enough a toy penguin. Additionally, they had a bunch of medical equipment, some with Goren’s DNA on it.”

“Do we know what type of procedures they were doing?”

“We are stilling trying to sort that out. It would be helpful if Goren was able to make a statement.”

“And you think I’m the only person he’ll be willing to talk to?”

“Let’s hope so. Otherwise, we are only getting Barrett and Kipling’s version of events.”

“Do you think you can have one of your guys trace the manufacturer of the toy penguin and figure out when it was purchased? Maybe even get a duplicate?”

“Why? You think it will help?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

Walking over to the door, Eames went to turn the knob.

“Where are you going?” Voight asked.

“You have both of the suspects in custody, don’t you?”

“We do. We are keeping them in holding until their bail hearing tomorrow. But they’ve both lawyered up. We can’t talk to them right now.”

“Maybe you can’t,” replied Eames, “but I can. I’m not part of the Chicago PD. I’m out of my jurisdiction. I’m basically a civilian. And as a civilian, I can talk to whomever I please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are enjoying this flurry of chapters. I don't know when the next time I'll be able to write this much in a day :D


	21. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames comes face to face with Lee & Dean.

Impatient was the adequate way of describing the mood Dean had been in since he had spoken to his husband on the phone. Impatient to have Voight or maybe even Lee come and get him out of this mess. He had no desire to wait until Monday to see a judge. Pacing the cell and fiddling his thumbs were not the most enjoyable ways of passing time. 

Ultimately, when the door to the room finally opened, Dean’s heart leapt for joy only to come crashing down a split second later. His husband had walked into the room but was not alone. Detective Olinsky was leading him from behind. Lee’s hands were cuffed behind his back, and Olinsky walked him over to the bench across from the holding cell and secured him to the back railing. 

“Lee,” Dean said both perplexed and worried, “What happened?”

“Shut up Dean,” replied Lee. “Don’t say another fucking word.”

“But—“

“I _said_ not another word,” Lee interrupted.

“You two don’t need to be coy on my account,” Olinsky said interjecting himself into the conversation. “I’m leaving.” And with those words, he departed the room and closed the door behind him.

It finally dawned on Dean that this was all a set-up. The whole conversation he had had with Voight. The phone call they had him place using the precinct’s phone. And now putting them together in the same room but far apart so they could not communicate covertly. It was another trap. If he spoke to Lee now, their conversation would be recorded and used against them. If Lee was under arrest, it wasn’t for DUI. Damn it! It must be because of Bobby, someone must’ve found him.

Choosing his next words carefully, Dean said, “What did they arrest you for?”

“Rape,” replied Lee sullenly.

That confirmed his suspicions. Of course, they had laid down some insurance to hedge their risks but it might not be enough. It was likely that the cops already had the DVD, but since Lee was in custody, it didn’t look like they bought the charade. Then they would have to rely on the steps Lee and him had taken before kidnapping Bobby. Lee had driven down to Goren’s place in Brooklyn a month before they had gone to collect the boy, where he had waited for Bobby to leave for work before hacking into the internet connection. Dean and Lee had then spent the better part of a month sending e-mails back and forth. Dean had placed a Craigslist ad as a male couple looking for a third. Lee had answered that ad, pretending to be Bobby, and of course, using Bobby’s IP address. The e-mails were graphic as Lee feigning that the police detective was looking to be dominated and forced into a sex-slave type fantasy role. That the stresses of work were too much for him to continue to bear, and that he needed to be released from all responsibility. That he was excited by the prospect of being in pain and hurting. That there was nothing he wouldn’t do or allow to be done to him. Dean had responded accordingly. Those e-mails were in a “hidden” folder on his laptop, just waiting to be found. 

Of course, one could never count on Bobby to behave. Hopefully, Bobby would just tell the cops it was all consensual and that he wanted to return to them. But if the boy told them the truth, he and Lee could always say that Goren was lying to save himself from embarrassment. That would be more difficult but it might work.

***

Dean didn’t look up when the door opened, it was unlikely that whoever it was would be any assistance to them. He hadn’t slept much during the night and seeing the lawyer this morning hadn’t done anything to ease the anxiety. Lee’s malpractice attorney, Ms. Smith, had come in as a “favor” to represent them before their bailing hearing. Upon learning of the crimes the two men were accused of committing, she had gone white as a sheet. Then told the men that her only legal advice was to remain silent until they could secure a criminal defense attorney because there was no way that she was staking her reputation on their innocence.

“Hello Lieutenant,” Lee said with ice in his voice, “how was the flight?”

Glancing up, Dean saw the small-statured form of Alexandra Eames. As Bobby’s former partner, they had taken quite an interest in her, frequently asking the boy about her. Having only seen pictures of her, Dean was hard pressed not to be rattled by her sudden appearance in the flesh. 

“Oh just fine,” replied Eames her voice dripping with malice, “though I don’t expect to be here long.”

“I’m honestly surprised to see you here at all. Considering everything Bobby has said about you,” said Lee.

“ _What are you doing_?” thought Dean. “ _We are supposed to stay silent_.”

“Oh really,” Eames asked, “and what was that exactly?”

“He told us how you put your promotion over the partnership, even after Bobby had worked so hard to be reinstated,” replied Lee. “That you stopped speaking to him. That it crushed him.”

“Little wonder he came looking for something new,” Dean interjected, despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help but to take a jab at her. “Someone to give him the love and commitment he could never find while he was with you.”

“Commitment?” Eames said rhetorically, “Commitment is the reason I’m here.”

“You mean guilt,” said Lee beguilingly. “You told him you were sick of people saying that he was the genius and you were just carrying his water.”

“Though I’m guessing that’s not what people are saying about him anymore,” Dean added cruelly.

Despite their barbs, Eames was resolute. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Really,” Dean asked, “then why are you here? Surely it’s not because you heard him crying out for you in his sleep.”

Lee shot Dean a warning glance. Playing cat and mouse with her was all well and good but they had to remember not to say anything that would tip their hand.

“I just want to know, why him?” Eames asked flatly.

“Why not,” replied Lee. “He was so eager. That bright flash of enthusiasm he has when he gets the opportunity to try new things and to experiment is simply intoxicating.”

“And who wouldn’t want to take a swim in those big brown doe eyes,” Dean remarked.

“Is that why you broke his legs,” she inquired, “because you wanted him to try something new, like not being able to stand?”

“Don’t be so unimaginative,” said Dean. “Pain can release the mind to explore other realms of possibilities. Bobby found it to be fairly addicting. You know how he can be, he gets an idea in his head and he can’t let go. He broke his own legs when he knew that Lee and I would not be there to stop him because he wanted to be in pain.”

“Well you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Eames said bitterly as she stalked out of the room.

***

“Well?” Voight asked.

“They’re good,” replied Eames. “They have a thinly plausible narrative and they are sticking to it.” 

“Any suggestions?”

“Get someone who is good at outwitting suspects so they end up incriminating themselves.”

“Know where I could find someone like that?”

“Yes, but it won’t do us any good. He’s currently sitting in a hospital not talking to anyone.”

 


	22. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames finally goes to see Bobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter doesn't melt your heart, then you don't have one.

Sitting in the backseat of Hank’s black Cadillac Escalade, Eames mulled over her brief conversation with the two suspects. It was obvious that they enjoyed causing other people anguish by the way they couldn’t resist ripping into her with their sharp remarks. They were lying, she knew that. But it was the details that were troubling her. The whole comment about Bobby being a genius and her carrying his water, that was troubling. Troubling because she had actually said that to Bobby in a fit of anger. He had been suspended and had engaged in some undercover work in order to get back into the good graces of the chief of detectives. But he had neglected to tell her, and as a result of working that same case, she had busted in on him with the other suspects, her gun drawn. She could’ve shot him and all because he refused to pick up the damn phone and tell her what was happening. Rightly so, she had been furious. And she had said some hurtful things, she knew that. But it had just been the two of them. The only way Barrett and Kipling would know about that was if Bobby had told them. What hell had they put him through in order to pull that story from his lips? Because there was no way he would just volunteer that kind of information.

As sharp as their words had been, Eames was still intact, though a few comments had hit their mark. The remark about him calling out for her in his sleep was gut-wrenching. And the way they described Bobby’s aptitude, to get excited about a new idea and not being able to let go of it, showed that they had taken the time to really get to know him. At least they had gotten to know who Bobby used to be, because the man in the hospital Voight had described, was nothing like the man she knew. 

They were headed to the hospital right now. Eames had been putting it off for as long as she could, but Voight had insisted they go. He had also forcefully persuaded her to let him drive her there. Probably because he was worried she’d chicken out if she drove herself.

In an attempt to distract herself, Eames pulled out her phone. It had been on airplane mode since she had left New York that morning. And since she had used the built-in GPS in the car, she hadn’t had the need to switch it back. But as soon as she turned off airplane mode, the phone started vibrating with notifications as it gathered all the information that had been sent while offline. She had 37 text messages and 12 voicemails, most were from former or current colleagues. The texts she read were along the lines of, “I just heard about Goren, is it true?” or “Just found out Goren got raped in Chicago. How are you doing?” She didn’t bother responding or listening to the voicemails before she threw her phone to the other end of the vehicle. 

Glancing into the rear-view mirror, so he could make eye-contact with her, Voight asked, “You doing alright back there?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “I’m fine.”

“Someone back in New York giving you a hard time?”

“No, just the news of what’s happened has spread like wildfire,” she said disappointedly.

“And they want you to confirm it and give them all the gory details?”

“It would seem so.”

“It’s a shame the higher-ups out there couldn’t keep a lid on things,” Voight said sympathetically. "I’m sorry about that. Wish there was more I could do.”

Before she knew it, they had pulled up in front of Gaffney Chicago Medical Center and Voight escorted her up to the psych ward of the hospital. There they were met by a Dr. Charles, the chief psychiatrist, and a Ms. Goodwin, the chief of services.

“I understand you are here as a representative of the NYPD,” Ms. Goodwin said to Eames. “We are having an interdepartmental meeting about this case first thing tomorrow morning, you’ll want to be there. You as well, Sergeant Voight.”

Not knowing what exactly to say, Eames was glad when Voight spoke up telling the hospital administrator that they would be there. At that point, Ms. Goodwin left to take care of another pressing matter. 

“I suppose you’d like to see him,” said the psychiatrist.

“That’s why we’re here,” replied Voight.

“Well then I will warn you not to get your hopes up,” Dr. Charles counseled as he began to lead them to the patient’s room. “He still hasn’t spoken to anyone. For the time being, there is still a suicide watch and that will continue until we are sure that he is no longer a danger to himself.”

Finally, Eames spoke up, “After his mother passed away, he got pretty depressed but it was never so bad that he tried anything like this.”

Dr. Charles stopped in his tracks and turned towards Eames, saying, “I’m sorry. I was just told that the NYPD was sending a representative. I didn’t know that you actually knew him. Exactly how well do you know the patient?”

“We were partners for more than a decade,” replied Eames, “we were practically married. You know how it is, bickering over little things all the time and not having sex.”

Her remark made Dr. Charles smile weakly before telling her, “I’m afraid he’s not the same man you knew. In fact, his mental state is pretty fragile. Just trying to get him to eat this morning caused him to have an anxiety attack. Maybe it would be best if you didn’t see him tonight. There’s no telling what type of reaction he’ll have when he sees you.”

“No,” Voight interjected. “She needs to see him.”

“I’m beginning to think that that might not be the best idea,” replied Charles.

Suddenly, the reluctance Eames had felt vanished and was replaced by a strong need to see her former partner.

“Just take me to him,” she demanded of the doctor.

“Very well,” he relented. “But do try not to upset him.”

As they rounded the corner, Bobby’s room came into view. The wall facing outward was glass so that the patient and his surroundings could be completely observed. He was lying on a hospital bed, a few medical looking machines on either side; covered by a blanket, the bulky outlines of the casts on his legs clearly visible. His head was turned away from the glass as he was either sleeping or staring out the grate covered window.

“We’ll be out here,” announced Charles. “He tends to get overwhelmed when there are too many people in the room with him.”

Sliding the door open, Eames quietly stepped into the room. She could now clearly see, the frail man lying in the bed. There were dark patches of bruises on his skin and red blotches trailed down his neck, signs that someone had been sucking forcefully enough to leave hickeys. His hair was darker than she remembered, making him look younger somehow. And he was painfully thin and looked small, not a word Eames ever thought she’d used to describe her former partner.

“Bobby,” she said quietly to get his attention.

***

When someone had stepped into the room, Bobby did not turn his head. The footsteps had been light so it was probably Dr. Reese again, trying to manipulate him into eating. He couldn’t stand that woman or anyone else for that matter, well besides Dr. Charles. Truthfully, he just wanted to be left alone.

“Bobby,” he heard a familiar voice say.

“ _EAMES?_ ” He silently questioned as he quickly turned his head to look at the woman who had spoken. 

There she was… his Alex. 

“ _This can’t be real_ ,” Bobby thought to himself as he looked down, unable to believe what his eyes were telling him, too overcome with emotion to function.

“Bobby,” she said again as she took a few steps towards him.

“ _It can’t be her,_ ” he argued silently with himself, “ _She wouldn’t have come. The Daddies said she didn’t care about me and never even bothered looking for me_.”

“Bobby,” Eames quietly pleaded as she came up next to the bed, “please look at me.”

Still looking down, Bobby noticed a smudge of white on her black shoe. It was odd because, despite some of her more masculine traits, Eames typically presented her self in a well-groomed fashion. 

Eames reached out to touch him. Instinctively, he jerked away but also looking up at her in the sudden flurry of movement. But her eyes were no longer on his face but the soft restraints used to secure him to the bed. She frowned and furrowed her brow. It was obvious that she did not approve of the steps the hospital had taken to prevent him from hurting himself.  Looking up and through the glass at the medical staff on the other side with a glare, she made a show of unbuckling the cuffs. As soon as they were off, Bobby brought his arms up to his chest. His arms turned inwards so she could not see the scars on his wrists. 

Studying her intently, like a mouse cornered by a cat, Bobby couldn’t help wonder what she was going to say. Surely, she was angry with him for dragging her into another one of his messes. What was it that she had said to him once? That all his wounds were self-inflicted? 

That cop, Sergeant Voight, had probably told her everything. Told her that her old partner was no longer a man but a little boy and a whore. A filthy fucking whore that would seduce his Daddies into doing the most depraved and perverse sexual acts imaginable. He could see it now, the look of disappointment on her face.

Eames lowered the railing on the side of the bed as she sat down on the edge, not quite touching him, but close enough that he could almost smell her. 

“I’m sorry, Bobby,” she said. “I should’ve been the one to find you. I have been searching for you for such a long time that I had almost given up hope that you were still alive. But I never thought I’d find you in Chicago.”

“ _Searching for me_?” Bobby wondered to himself, still remaining silent. “ _Why? I’m not worth the trouble_.”

“I feel like it’s all my fault,” Eames confessed. “If I hadn’t had taken that promotion and left major case, then maybe I would’ve noticed you were missing right away and found you sooner. Instead, it took weeks of not hearing back from you for me to finally do something.

At this point, tears started to fall onto her cheeks.

“By the time I started looking for you, there was nothing to go off of. And all that effort that went into questioning potential witnesses and searching for potential evidence was wasted because you were here in Chicago this whole time. And I didn’t figure that out. You needed me and I failed you. I am so so sorry.”

“ _Don’t cry Eames_ ,” he thought. “ _It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. Please stop crying_.” 

But she didn’t stop crying. He felt like he had hurt her and that was something he never ever wanted to do. It was tearing down the emotional walls he had built to protect himself. Wanting to tell her something, but knowing that if he opened his mouth, the words that would come out would not be in a language she could understand. So instead he leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder.

It was finally touching her that confirmed in his mind that she was real and not some fantasy his addled mind had cooked up. He could smell the light perfume she would occasionally wear, especially when she was nervous and worried about perspiring. Eames brought her arms up and around him, pulling him in close. She was warm and soft and the most comforting thing he had felt in years. 

Burying his face in the space between her shoulder and chest, Bobby let go of the breath he had unconsciously been holding. As he went to breathe in again, a sob tore through his throat. And like waves crashing on the shore as the tide comes in, sobs of emotion tinged with both sadness and relief coursed through him, each one more powerful than the last. The tears had come and he was getting the cloth of Eames’s light gray blouse damp, but he didn’t notice. She was holding tightly, swaying him ever so slightly.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m here now. You’re safe.”


	23. Remand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bail hearing doesn't go well for Barrett and Kipling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More original character that aren't necessarily important to the story. But I have a story to tell and roles to fill. Only canon character is Peter Stone.

The judge on the docket for the day was Judge Emerson, a tough but fair woman. “Mr. Stone we don’t often see you at a bail hearing,” the judge said to the assistant state’s attorney, Peter Stone. 

To which Mr. Stone replied, “It’s not every day that a case like this lands in my lap.”

“Mr. Klein,” the judge said to the criminal defense attorney Barrett and Kipling had retained at the last moment, “on the charges kidnapping and rape in the first degree, how do your clients plead?”

“My clients plead not guilty, Your Honor,” replied the defense attorney.

“People on bail?” asked Judge Emerson.

“We are asking for remand, Your Honor,” replied Stone

“You’re joking,” responded Klein. “My clients are both doctors and upstanding citizens with ties to the community. They do not pose a flight risk.

“One of Mr. Klein’s clients,” snapped Stone, “has a history alcohol-related offenses including a DUI. And both of them are charged with kidnapping and raping a police officer. Your Honor, if an officer of the law is not safe from these men, then who is?”

“Your Honor, the supposed victim is from New York. If the prosecution is alleging he was kidnapped across state lines, then this should be a federal case and not under the purview of the state,” Klein rebutted. “Besides, my clients are innocent and are simply being persecuted for their sexual orientation.”

“Sexual orientation doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that the victim is literally covered in bruises and has had multiple bones broken. These men are incredibly dangerous, Your Honor. And I ask you not to let them back out into society,” Stone pleaded.

“I’m inclined to agree with you Mr. Stone,” replied the judge. “Let the record show that bail is denied. The defendants will be remanded to the department of corrections to await trial.”

Barrett and Kipling were led out of the courtroom, in handcuffs, to be transported to the nearest corrections facility. Their lawyer had only a moment to tell them to sit tight and he’d meet with them as soon as he could. Meanwhile, a reporter sat in the back row of the courtroom taking notes.

 

***

At long last, Dean and Lee were alone together in a room as they  waited for their attorney to come and counsel them. They were both in orange jumpsuits with the word ‘CORRECTIONS’ emblazoned on the back and wearing white cloth loafers. 

“What the fuck were you thinking,” Lee spat as he paced the floor. “Leaving Bobby alone at the house and getting drunk?”

“I…” Dean replied before trailing off. He knew he had made the worst mistake of his life and had no way of defending himself.

“This is worse than when I lost the girl,” Lee retorted. “You’ve been holding that over my head for years. And yet here we are, and it’s all because you lost control. Because you couldn’t keep your shit together.”

“Lee, please. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“I want you to hop in a fucking time machine and go back to Friday night and NOT LEAVE THE BOY ALONE!”

“Am I interrupting something,” Mr. Klein asked as he stepped into the room.

Both men blanched at the sudden entrance of their attorney. They hadn’t realized he had come into the room.

“Please, Mr. Barrett,” said Klein, “have a seat.”

Once Lee had taken a seat, Klein sat across from the two men and took out his case file notes.

“First of I’d like to go over the evidence against the two of you. Then go over our defense strategy. It’s best if you two just listen unless you have something useful to add.

“Let’s start with the worse bit, the physical condition of the alleged victim is exceptionally dire. Not only does he have bruising, broken bones, but also anal tearing coupled with traces of semen that matches both of your DNA. Oh, and let’s not forget that he is severely malnourished. 

“Next item is that the victim was found chained up in your home. However, it doesn’t look like the police had probable cause for entering, so we might be able to get that thrown out if this goes to trial.

“Good news is that they found the victims fingerprints upstairs, so they can’t run with the whole captive in a basement for two years narrative. 

“There are some e-mails on your computer that look like they’ve been sent from the victim but of course the prosecution will argue those could’ve been faked, but we’ll still push that point if we make it to court. Other than that, there’s nothing else in terms of evidence. Let’s talk defense strategies.”

“What do you mean there is no other evidence?” Lee asked. “What about the DVD?”

Flipping through his papers, Klein finally spotted the evidence log for the DVD and player. “Looks like the DVD got corrupted somehow and isn’t currently readable,” he said. “They’ve sent it out to a lab for recovery though. Why do you ask? Is it important?”

“Is it important?” Dean imitated the attorney mockingly.

“Of course it’s important,” Lee replied. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Do I want to know what’s on it?” asked Klein. “Please keep in mind that if either of you confesses to anything illegal. It will make things very difficult for me to continue representing this case.”

“Um… the DVD is a… well… we sort of made a sex tape. And it just so happens that during the film, Bobby says a few things that back up our defense,” replied Dean.

“And does this admission look coerced or highly edited?” Klein asked.

Looking at Lee, to silently converse before answering, Dean answered, “No.”

“Do you have another copy of it somewhere,” Klein asked.

“Yes, on a private cloud server,” replied Lee.

“You know, if we wanted to introduce this piece of evidence in court, we’d first have to turn it over to the prosecution during reciprocal discovery,” said Klein. “And that means they would then know of the existence of said cloud server and want access to it since they already have a warrant for all and any of your data files. So unless you want every piece of information on that server reviewed by the state, I would suggest us not opening that can of worms.”

Silence filled the air for a moment as Lee contemplated what the lawyer had said. The server was secure so they kept all their medical, procedural, and confidential files on there, including files pertaining to the boy’s sister. Klein was right, it was better left unopened.

“I suppose you’re correct about the tape,” remarked Lee. “But we have a strong defense, right? The fingerprints upstairs and e-mails prove we didn’t rape him. That it was all consensual.”

Klein took a breath before answering, “Honestly fellas, I know people are into all sorts of things these days. And I’m not one to judge another man’s kinks, but beating someone repeatedly and saying it was consensual is going to be a hard sell to make.”

“But the e-mails,” interjected Dean.

“Are just words typed on a screen. We can’t prove he typed them,” replied Klein. “So unless by some miracle, Detective Goren starts talking and decides to speak in your defense, then my advice is to pray that Stone’s office offers a reasonable plea deal. Because if this goes to trial, it might not end well and you two could end up spending the rest of your life behind bars.”

“And it’s your job to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Lee fumed.

“What do you mean, ‘if Goren starts talking’?” Dean interrupted, changing the subject. "He was perfectly capable of speech the last time I saw him.”

“Oh,” replied Klein, “word is that he’s refusing to speak. The psychiatrist on the case thinks it’s some sort of dissociative disorder, but the final report from the hospital hasn’t been released yet so that’s not confirmed. Of course, we can always ask to get a second opinion on the matter.”

“So he hasn’t said anything?” Lee asked. “Well, that’s good, right? It proves that he’s not willing to work with the police. Probably because he’s too embarrassed to admit what he’s done.”

“You think Goren’s faking a psychological break in order to save face?” Klein asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it,” replied Dean.

“How do you know that?” asked Klein.

“Because he told us how he faked having schizophrenia so he could get admitted into the psychiatric ward of a prison in order to investigate accusations of officers harming inmates,” said Dean.

“When was this?” inquired Klein.

“I’m not sure,” replied Dean looking over at Lee. “2007 maybe.”

“Okay,” said Klein, “well, that’s something. I’ll have to do some follow up. But this may just swing things in our favor.”


	24. All the King's Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Interdepartmental Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in writing this chapter. I came down with a nasty case of acute pharyngitis and the fever messed with my ability to string sentences together in a logical fashion. But I'm better now :) Enjoy the long chapter!

“I want to thank you all for coming,” said Ms. Goodwin. “I’ll be passing around a sign-in sheet. Everyone please print your name legibly and write down the department you’re representing.”

Eames looked around the room. The meeting consisted of about 10 people. Ms. Goodwin, a few doctors including Dr. Charles, someone from the state’s attorney’s office, two more people from social services, a young female intern who was sent to take notes, Sgt. Voight, and herself. But she told herself that she was really only here to listen and observe. She was too tired and had no desire to make any sort of deductions or evaluations. 

The night before, she had stayed in the hospital room with Bobby for hours. She had held him in her arms until he had stopped crying. Then had gently leaned him back down on the bed before moving him over to the side so she could sit next to him. Recalling how easy it was to move him because of his sheer lack of weight, she suppressed a shiver. He had rested his head on her shoulder and fallen asleep. Finally, Dr. Charles had come into the room and told her that visiting hours were over and she’d need to leave for the night. Bobby had awakened and grabbed her hand, obviously, not wanting her to leave. But Dr. Charles had insisted, explaining to Bobby that Eames had had a very long day and deserved a chance to go to her hotel room so she could shower and rest. She had done exactly that, except for the ‘rest’ part. She had laid down but she couldn’t help but think about what could’ve possibly happened to Bobby that he would tell his attackers literally everything about himself and yet refuse to say a single word to her. 

“Now that everyone has gotten a chance to sign in,” Ms. Goodwin announced, startling Alex from her thoughts, “I’m going to turn it over to our Doctors to give a more in-depth summary of the patient’s condition. I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you all that this patient’s identity is protected by HIPPA and privacy laws. And as such, should not be discussed with anyone who does not have a legal right to know. Thank you. Now, Doctor Choi, will you start us off?”

“If that is what you would like, Ms. Goodwin,” replied Dr. Choi in a very professional manner. “Our patient was brought into the emergency department unconscious and with both left and right tibia fractures. During treatment, we discovered the patient was susceptible to negative drug-induced reactions. And then upon further examination, we found anal tearing and scarring, signs of rough and frequent anal penetration. 

“Other physical abnormalities including being extremely underweight, varying degrees of abrasions and chaffing on his wrists and ankles from prolonged restraint, scarring on both his wrists from what appears to be a past suicide attempt, a more recent scar on his left hand from some sort of incision, a high number of bruises, intentional burn scars on his right inner thigh that spells out the word for…” Dr. Choi paused. Looking down at his papers as did his best to remain professional, he finally continued, “…that spells out the Latin word for whore or prostitute. And lastly, it seems as though as his body hair has been permanently removed, except for his eyelashes, eyebrows, and scalp.”

Eames suddenly realized why Bobby had looked so young. She wasn’t used to seeing him without the permanent scruff that seemed to always color his cheeks. But the hair missing from his face was the very least of it, the doctor had said that they had removed all his body hair, that would include… Eames blushed as she thought of Bobby’s more sensitive regions being hairless.

“Why would they take the trouble permanently removing his hair?” the intern asked. “Wouldn’t it just have been easier to shave it off or wax it?”

“Easy is not the manner in which these perpetrators operated,” replied Dr. Charles, who up to this point had been silent. “Their actions are clearly thought out and deliberate. The long painful process of permanently removing body hair would have been a humiliating experience for our patient. It would have made for a very forceful and tangible example of the change that took place.”

“And what change would that be exactly?” Voight asked from his seat beside Eames.

“The change from an independent free adult man in a position of some authority to a captive dependent, vulnerable to every whim of his captors,” replied Charles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were actively trying to make him feel like a child, given the fact that he was found wearing child’s undergarments and they removed his pubic hair.”

“Since when does someone burn the word ‘whore’ into the skin of a child,” Eames asked rhetorically, her voice cool but angry. She hadn’t seen that particular set of scarring in person, but Dr. Choi had brought a set of pictures of Goren’s injuries and they had been making their way around the table. They had just gotten to Eames and looking through them made her blood boil.

“Perhaps,” interjected Ms. Goodwin, “we save the conjecture for another time. There are more factual issues that need to be addressed. Doctor Rhodes, would you bring us up to speed on the other aspects of the patient’s condition?”

Dr. Rhodes nodded as accepted the proverbial baton from Ms. Goodwin. He began by saying, “Doctor Choi mentioned that the patient had a negative reaction to medication he was administered in the emergency department.  After getting the lab results back, we can say with some level of confidence that he has a form of drug intolerance syndrome. So, unfortunately, there is no form of medication that we can safely give him. This type of syndrome is typically the result of repeated exposure to a variety of drugs over an extended amount of time. However, in this case, it seems to have more of an acute and deliberate onset than other instances of this condition. There’s no easy way of saying this, but in my medical opinion, the men who caused this condition did so knowingly. As doctors, they have broken the oath we all take, to do no harm. 

“Granted, what harm they caused, they tended to fix. Of the 36 recently broken bones we discovered while reviewing the x-rays and scans, all of them were correctly set and healed. Most breaks were done in a surgical manner, though a few appeared to be the result of blunt force impacts. The sutures on his hand and wrists were also done in a well trained surgical manner. 

“But the broken bones were not the only thing the scans revealed. One minor thing is that he has inflammation on his knees causing prepatellar bursitis, which occurs when a patient has spent an inordinate amount of time kneeling. This is fairly easy to treat by resting, elevating, and icing the joints. 

“The other thing isn’t so minor. Overall, his skeletal structure shows signs of losing and then regaining density, a sure sign of past chemotherapy—“

“What?!” Eames voiced aloud what the non-medical staff in the room had been thinking. “Chemotherapy? Why in the world would they give him chemotherapy when he doesn’t have cancer? Did you find any signs of cancer?”

“No,” replied Dr. Rhodes, “we didn’t find any signs the patient has ever had any form of cancer. Chemotherapy would cause fatigue and the inability to be able to mentally focus on any task at hand. It’s possible that the men who did this to him were more interested in the side-effects of the drug than it’s intended purpose. But the markings on the patient’s posterior iliac crest make us think that the chemotherapy served a dual purpose.”

“Posterior iliac crest?” asked one of the social workers. “Forgive me for not recalling all of the vocabulary words from my high school anatomy class, but where is that located?”

“The pelvis,” replied Dr. Rhodes, “more specifically the part of the hip that protrudes slightly. It’s the preferred site for harvesting bone marrow. Basically, we are operating under the assumption that perpetrators were conducting some sort of twisted medical experimentation on the patient. That they removed some of his healthy bone marrow, gave him chemotherapy to suppress his remaining marrow, and then transplanted his healthy, perhaps altered, bone marrow back into his system. All of this, of course, is conjecture since we don’t have any records and no one involved is talking about it.”

Eames stood up so quickly that the chair she had been sitting on tipped over. Feeling like she was going to be sick if she heard one more word, she hurriedly left the room. Once out of the doors, she found the nearest trash can and retched into it. She was still bent over the can when she heard the voice of Hank Voight behind her.

“Hey,” he asked, “you okay?”

Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Eames stood up and turned towards the sergeant. 

“No,” she replied. “I’m sick of all these people, who don’t even know him, talking about Bobby as if he’s just another statistic. Being raped is bad enough, but he’s been experimented on like some lab rat. And they all are just sitting there, discussing it, as if he wasn’t a person. As if he wasn’t the best and smartest and kindest man I know.”

“You don’t have to go back in there if you don’t want to,” Voight replied. “If you can’t handle—“

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much,” Eames said bitterly.

“No one would think less of you if you didn’t come back in,” said Hank.

“I would think less of myself. I was sent here to do a job. And dammit, I’m going to do it.”

“I’m sorry about your friend if he really was all that you say. Unfortunately, the rest of us don’t see the man you’ve been describing. I apologize if that comes off as the doctors or even myself seeing him as a statistic or inhuman. That’s not the intent.”

“How do you see him?”

“Honestly?”

Eames nodded. Honesty might hurt but it was better than feeling numb.

“Honestly,” Voight said, “I see an empty shell, like a man whose had his soul forcibly ripped out of him.”

“Huhhhh,” Eames replied as she contemplated the words Voight had spoken. “That’s … accurate.”

A few minutes later, Voight accompanied Eames back into the conference room. The soft murmuring, that had been occurring while they had been outside, abruptly ended as they re-entered the room. Once they had settled back down, Eames began to apologize for her sudden departure. 

“Really, dear,” said Ms. Goodwin, “don’t worry about it. This case is difficult enough as it is. I can only imagine how difficult it is for you, given the fact that you actually know the victim. Something we can certainly be more sympathetic towards.” Ms. Goodwin eyed Dr. Rhodes as she said the last part. Apparently, giving him some silent criticism. “Now, Doctor Charles, would you be willing to finish the meeting with a brief overview of the patient’s mental status.”

Glancing kindly in Eames direction, Dr. Charles began to speak. “The patient has presented with a multitude of symptoms. And given the circumstances he has endured, none of them are surprising. He involuntarily retreats from physical contact, a symptom of systematic physical abuse. But he also refuses to speak or communicate. These are signs of a disassociated state. While he was held captive, staying connected to who he was in the real world was actually causing him to become mentally unstable. It was only logical for him to disconnect and disassociate from that identity. The problem now is that he isn’t currently capable of acting against those barriers he’s built to protect himself.”

“Would you say that he is functioning on a diminished capacity?” asked the woman from the state’s attorney’s office.

“Yes,” replied Dr. Charles after a moment. “I would say that he’s functioning under a diminished capacity and has been for some time now.”

“Is that what you would diagnosis him with?” asked the woman.

“No,” replied Dr. Charles. “That’s just a symptom. My official diagnosis would be that he’s suffering from Stockholm syndrome in a dissociative state with suicidal tendencies. There could be elements of regression but I would need him to talk to me before I could make that determination.”

“I’m sorry,” Eames asked, “but Stockholm? Wouldn’t that mean Goren identifies with his attackers? I don’t see it.”

“Stockholm is more than just identifying with you’re attackers,” explained Dr. Charles. “It’s a willingness to be compliant with their commands and directions. Our patient has disassociated himself with the outside world, meaning he associates himself with the life he led with his captors. It is virtually impossible for him to not to have bonded with them on some level. I’m sorry, but those are just the facts.” 

“And he’s suicidal?” inquired one of the social workers. “Other than the past attempt Dr. Choi mentioned, have there been more attempts?”

“There have,” replied Dr. Charles stoically. “He tried stopping his heart with a defibrillator shortly after he got out of surgery. And he’s currently refusing to eat, despite being given every opportunity and a variety of options.”

“I don’t understand,” interjected Eames. “Why would he do that? Can’t we just make him eat?”

“The why is easy enough to understand,” said Charles. “In his diminished capacity, Goren is having a very difficult time dealing with the circumstances he is experiencing.  This is causing him to have suicidal impulses that he is currently unable to suppress.”

“So what can be done?” asked Dr. Choi. 

“Normally, we’d treat the patient with anti-depressants,” answered Charles. “But since Goren has a drug intolerance, we can only give him therapeutic treatment and hope those impulses go away.”

“And in the meantime, are you just going to let him starve to death?” Voight asked.

“No,” replied Dr. Charles, “we’ll have to put in a feeding tube. It’s not an option I’d like to take but unfortunately, it’s the only one we’ve got.”

And on that dismal note, the meeting ended. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Rhodes' conjecture on the type of experimentation Bobby experienced is close but not totally accurate to what actually happened.


	25. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short exchange between Bobby and Eames.

“Bobby,” Eames said as she popped her head into his hospital room, “you awake?”

The nursing staff had been placing cold compresses on his knees and legs as they elevated and moved the bed into an inclined position with the legs raised. The throbbing pain he had been experiencing had dulled as his lower extremities went numb from the cold. It had been a bit of a relief and he had spent the morning sleeping on and off. But the sound of Eames’s voice roused him. 

It was probably for the best. He had been dreaming of his Daddies. In his dream, the three of them had been cuddling on the Daddies’ bed. Father had been telling Bobby how good a boy he had been and how much they loved him. Daddy had been rubbing his legs and telling him that they were healing nicely. The dream was a pleasant escape from his reality.

In contrasting reality, he was trapped in a sterile hostile (he purposely used this word instead of the word hospital) room where he was constantly being watched. Like he was stupid enough to try anything with all these eyes on him. At least they hadn’t put the restraints back on since Eames had left. He thought that maybe she had been part of the dream, but here she was back in reality once again. Bobby opened his eyes and made contact with her. The look of recognition beckoning her inside the room.

“Hey Bobby,” she said as she crossed the room to him, “how did you sleep?”

Suppressing the urge to speak, Bobby simply held out his hand to her. 

Taking his hand and letting him draw her close, Eames began to chatter. Pausing every few moments to give him a chance to respond, even though she knew he wouldn’t. 

“I hope you slept well. I would’ve been here earlier but I had a meeting I had to attend. It was kind of boring actually, good thing you weren’t there. You would’ve distracted everyone by getting all fidgety.”

Bobby could tell she was putting a positive spin on things to spare his feelings. Funny, that had always been his role in the relationship. Eames wasn’t typically the type to pull any punches.

“But I did get a chance to talk to Dr. Charles a bit. I like him. Not as pompous and full of himself like other psychologists I’ve met.”

“ _Psychiatrist_ ,” Bobby corrected her silently. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that she was here and that she was real. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, just to reassure himself.

“He mentioned that you weren’t eating. Do you think maybe you could give that a try today while I’m at work?”

Releasing her hand from his grip, Bobby let out a disgruntled huff. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he was doing. And in the end, this long ordeal would finally be over. Why did Eames want to take that from him? Hadn’t he suffered long enough?

“Bobby,” Eames said, her tone hardening ever so slightly. “I know you’ve been through a lot. Trust me I know. But things are getting better, right? I’m here now and you’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

The hard sounds of water striking the window announced the presence of rain. Bobby had known it was coming, but Eames seemed startled by the development in the weather. She stared at the window for a few minutes, trying to decipher the right words to say. Finally, she sighed and spoke.

“Rain on a Tuesday. Seems like the appropriate weather for a day like today. A bit dreary but at least it’s a relief from the humidity. “

Tuesday... today was Tuesday. Bobby hadn’t known the day of the week in years. It was almost a foreign concept to him. Days typically ran together, birthdays and holidays being the only days of note. As far as he was concerned, every day could’ve been a Tuesday, because the concept of a weekday was irrelevant. But still, learning that this day was a Tuesday was a bit of a surreal feeling.

“I wish ...“ Eames began but she trailed off. Wishing for something to be different than it was rarely of any use. Instead, she reached down and smoothed the hair away from Bobby’s face before leaning down as if to give him a peck on the cheek but Bobby pushed her away. He didn’t want her kissing him. His Daddies were the only ones allowed to kiss him. She wasn’t in charge of him. He didn’t want her to touch him. He was dirty. And she was pure and unadulterated. He didn’t want to defile her. 

“Bobby,” she said quietly, sadness and disappointment coloring her voice.

He turned his head away from her. Deliberately rejecting the comfort she was offering him.

“I guess it’s time for me to leave then. There’s work still to do and it won’t do itself. I’ll be back later tonight.”

She placed a hand gently on his shoulder but he didn’t turn back towards her. A moment later she was gone. And Bobby was left wishing he hadn’t been so cold to her. Maybe she would’ve stayed with him longer. But now he was alone again.

“ _She’ll be back soon enough_ ,” he thought to himself consolingly. 

“ _Will she though_?” That irritating voice questioned in the back of his mind.

Bobby wanted to strangle that voice. It was cruel and demeaning. Always repeating the same old bullshit. 

“ _Eames said she’d be back, so she’s coming back. So you can fuck all the way off,_ ” Bobby told the voice, defiantly as he readjusted himself in the bed so he could stare out the window at the rain.

Despite the grate blocking a portion of the view, Bobby couldn’t tear his eyes away. He hadn’t ever been allowed to look outside when he had been with the Daddies. And watching the rainfall was a mesmerizing heavenly experience. Much better than anything he could dream up on his own.

 


	26. Miss Alex

Looking through the upstairs window at the 21st precinct, Eames watched the rain continue to fall. She had left Bobby in that hospital room but that was just his physical body. It was like a small pathetic creature had somehow gotten control of his body and was wearing him like a skin suit. Maybe the man she had once known was really dead and his ghost was haunting her. Goren’s shade seemed to be following her around like a guilty conscience, pointing out that she had missed obvious clues when it came to his disappearance. And now that they had the actual perpetrators in custody, the imaginary figure was doubting her ability in getting the justice he deserved. 

“Lieutenant?” Atwater asked as he approached her from behind. “Sorry to bother you but Voight said you would want to know about the toy penguin in evidence.”

“Yes,” Eames replied. “What about it?”

“Well,” began Atwater, “we were able to track down the manufacturer because the labeling hadn’t been removed. Turns out they only sell that particular toy in their premium line through select distributors. And there is only one store in the area that carries it. So we were able to run Barrett and Kipling’s cards through their financial records. There was one transaction that matched.”

“When exactly did they buy the penguin?” Eames asked.

“Um…” Atwater stalled as he went back to his desk to look through the documentation. “Looks like they bought it almost two years ago, on August 19th.”

“A birthday present,” Eames blurted out as her mind made the connection.

“I’m sorry, what?” the officer asked, confused.

“They bought the toy as a birthday present,” she stated.

By the blank stare, Atwater was giving her, he still hadn’t caught on.

“Barrett and Kipling, they bought the penguin on August 19th. The day before Goren’s birthday. They bought him a child’s toy for his birthday because they wanted him to feel small, don’t you see.”

“Okay…” said Atwater. “I’m not sure why that matters. They did lots of terrible things to him. Getting him a stuffed animal doesn’t seem that bad. Seems kind of nice, actually.”

“That’s the thing,” replied Eames as she grabbed her jacket and began putting it on, “it was nice of them. And Bobby would’ve reacted strongly to any small act of kindness after all the hell they had started putting him through. And he would not have been able to stop himself transferring some of those emotions to the toy, especially since he’s had it almost the entire time.”

“So what are you going to do?” asked Atwater. 

“I’m going to go buy him a fucking penguin,” replied Eames. “Now give me the address to the store.”

***

The door chimed as Eames stepped into the small toy boutique and shook off some of the rain that clung to her. Looking around at all the bright toys and games adorning the walls and shelves, she thought of her nephew. Perhaps she should give her sister a call and see if there was anything he’d like in particular.

“May I help you?” asked the store clerk, a somewhat effeminate and flamboyantly dressed man, who had come up while Eames was distracted.

“Yes,” replied Eames, “I’m with the police department. I think someone called and asked if you still carry a particular toy penguin.”

“Of course,” replied the clerk, “we still had one in stock and I pulled it off the shelves and put it in back. Would you like me to go and grab it for you?”

“If you don’t mind,” said Eames.

While the clerk was gone to get the toy, Eames continued to browse through the store’s selection.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” asked the phantom Goren. “ _I’m not a child_.”

“ _You may not be_ ,” though Eames, “ _but I’m not entirely sure the man sitting in the hospital isn’t_.”

“ _So what are you going to do? Buy me a toy and pretend I’m just an innocent little boy. Pretend that I haven’t been sexually abused on a daily basis for the past few years?_ ” said the ghost, his voice full of mockery.

“ _No. I’m going to pretend that you are in there somewhere. And that by getting this penguin, it will just maybe convince you to drop your guard down a bit._ ”

“ _Oh, so you’re planning on tricking me. It’s not going to work._ ”

“Ma’am,” said the clerk as he brought the penguin out from the back, “I can ring you up at the register over here.”

“God, I hope this works,” Eames muttered to herself.

“I’m sorry,” said the clerk, “what did you say?”

“Oh, nothing,” Eames said with bright affectation as she pulled out her wallet to purchase the toy.

***

In one hand, Eames held the plastic bag containing the original plush toy penguin. In the other hand, the one she had recently purchased. The same toy but vastly different. One was dingy and worn down, the other fluffy and new. Opening the sealed bag, Eames gave the contents a sniff. She made a gagging sound in the back of her throat. 

“You know,” said Sergeant Voight as he came into the room, “you could just switch them out and give Goren the real penguin and no one would be the wiser.”

“Are you suggesting I tamper with evidence?” Eames asked scornfully. 

Voight shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s not something I would even consider doing,” Eames stated emphatically.

“I’m just saying,” remarked Voight, “that the only person who’s going to know the difference is probably Goren. And he’s the one you are trying to trick into believing the new one is actually the old one.”

“Anyone could tell the difference and know it’s been switched,” replied Eames.

“We already have the lab analysis for evidentiary purposes,” explained Voight. “And I doubt anyone will take a good look at it ever again. So just rub the two penguins together to transfer some trace evidence and switch them.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that,” Eames mumbled.

“You can and you should,” remarked Voight. “If Goren is still a tenth of the detective you’ve told me he is, then he’s going to know the difference. And he won’t be happy you’ve tried to fool him.”

Eames sighed, maybe Voight was right.


	27. State's Attorney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The assistant state's attorney, Peter Stone, goes to meet with his boss, Mark Jefferies, the state's attorney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but I'm trying to get through all the dialog that has to happen quickly and it's easier if I just break it up into smaller chunks.

Assistant State's Attorney, Peter Stone, was nervous as he walked into the State’s Attorney’s office. Mark Jefferies was a veteran attorney that took a hard line when it came to serving out justice. But Jefferies was also an elected official and he had to cater to not only the public but also powerful politicians. 

“I have half a mind to have the charges in the Barrett/Kipling case dropped,” Jefferies said when Stone walked into the room.

“What?” questioned Stone, “Sir, you can’t be serious.” He felt his knees go slightly weak at the thought, and quickly took a seat to prevent himself from falling over. 

“I can and I am. Have you looked at the victim’s file? We take this to trial and the defense will eat him alive.”

“So we don’t put him on the stand.”

“It’s not that simple. Not only is he not a reliable witness but there is no way we could compel him, even if he was talking and we wanted him to testify,” explained Jefferies. “It’s about how Barrett’s and Kipling’s stories have stayed completely consistent and plausible. And then, on the other hand, we’ve got a mentally unstable victim and police reports that have obviously been falsified from the very beginning.”

“Voight told me himself that the case file was legit,” Stone insisted.

“Voight is a dirty cop and we both know it,” sneered Jefferies.

“Well, what about the doctor’s report and rape kit? Those are pretty damning.”

“The injuries only proves that they had rough sex, which they’ve already admitted to, and isn’t technically a crime. And as far as the kidnapping charge, there isn’t a single shred of evidence to even prove that that happened.”

“Just because New York hasn’t found anything on their end yet doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Stone postulated.

“Wake up and smell the coffee, Stone,” Jefferies said vehemently. “Any evidence of that man being kidnapped is over two years old and is probably gone by now. And even if the NYPD did find anything, we’d have to turn the whole case over to the feds.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Stone asked.

“Offer them a plea deal.”

“A plea deal is too good for the likes of them. Besides, I doubt that there is an offer I could make that they would accept.”

“They might change their mind if you bring up the possibility of life in federal prison.”

“I thought you said we didn’t have enough to get the feds involved?”

“I did. But they don’t know that.”

“Do you think they will fall for it?”

“Honestly, it’s your job to convince them it’s a possibility.”

“Of course sir, I understand.”

Stone stood up to leave but Jefferies told him to sit back down.

“One last thing Stone,” said Jefferies, “my office got a call from a reporter asking about the case. She wanted a quote.”

“And let me guess, ‘no comment’.”

Jefferies smirked at Stone’s reply but he was completely serious when he said, “She was informed that she could get a quote at the press conference tomorrow morning.”

“What press conference?”

“The one you will be conducting tomorrow.”

His jaw fell open with surprise. Stone wasn’t used to this sort of decision just being sprung on him. 

“Sir, is that a wise decision?” Stone asked. 

“I am fully confident in your abilities to handle the press,” replied Jefferies.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean shouldn’t we try and mitigate the press this story receives. Especially considering the mental status of the victim?”

“A cop getting raped is going to be a huge news story. There’s no mitigating that. Besides, don’t discount the significant effect of the court of public opinion. It could be exactly what you need to nail these suckers to the wall.”

“Yes, sir. I understand but—“

“No buts about it,” interrupted Jefferies, “You’ll take this story to the press and let them run with it. We don’t want to come out as the bad guy on this one.”

“What about the victim?” Stone asked.

“Keep his name out of it, if you’re so concerned,” replied Jefferies. “Though I doubt it will matter.”

 


	28. Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby starts talking again... kinda.

The rain had stopped falling and the sun had set by the time Eames returned to the hospital. She carried a brown paper bag in her hand and she hoped its contents would comfort her old partner, and maybe get him talking again. On her way to the elevators, she ran into Dr. Charles.

“Lieutenant Eames,” said Dr. Charles good-naturedly, “I’m glad to see you again. I know it’s been a rough couple of days and I was worried you might not want to come back.”

“How could I not come back?” Eames asked incredulously. “Bobby is the whole reason I’m in Chicago.

“Dealing with the mental trauma of a loved one can be incredibly taxing,” replied Charles. “I don’t think anyone would blame you for wanting to take a break.”

“I don’t want to take a break,” Eames said with conviction, though she didn’t know if she was saying it for Dr. Charles’s benefit or her own.

“Of course,” replied Charles, his voice heavy with empathy. “You’ve been put in charge of him, in a manner of speaking. So you feel responsible to stay present. But whether you are doing it out of a sense of responsibility or simply because you care for him, it’s important that you take time for yourself. Allow yourself a bit of breathing room, if you need it.”

“I’d be here even if the NYPD hadn’t sent me. Nothing could’ve kept me away. But I appreciate your concern.”

“Are you going up to see him now,” Charles asked.

Eames nodded affirmatively.

“Mind if I come with you?” Dr. Charles inquired.

“I don’t mind at all,” replied Eames.

The first few seconds of getting into the elevator were passed in awkward silence before Dr. Charles once again started to speak.

“Have you given any thought,” Charles asked, “to where to place Bobby once he is released from the hospital?”

“I…” Eames stuttered, “I… don’t know… I hadn’t really thought that far.”

“Well it’s something to consider,” said Charles. “He won’t be released unless he’s being transferred to a mental care facility. For now, he’s technically a ward of the state while the hospital retains custody. So transferring him to another facility out of state could prove complicated.”

“I just can’t take him home with me?” Eames’s uneven tone conveyed her confusion. What had she been thinking? Goren’s place was undoubtedly cleared out by his landlord and leased to a new tenant. He had no home to return to. No family to take him in. There was just her. And she wasn’t exactly equipped to take care of a mentally compromised Bobby full-time. What was she going to do? She’d have to find a facility in New York to take him. That means she would have to figure out how to get him transferred across state lines. And with him being a ward of the state of Illinois, that was going to be difficult. And who was going to pay for it? The NYPD?

“What’s in the bag?” Dr. Charles asked, interrupting her train of thought.

“Oh,” Eames said, she had almost forgotten that she was carrying it. “It’s a present, for Bobby.”

“What is it?” 

“It’s a plush toy penguin.”

“Like the one he had in the house?”

Eames gave the psychiatrist a knowing glare.

“Hey,” he stated, “I read the police report too, you know. And I wish you would consult me before putting my patient in potentially emotionally charged situations.”

“He might be your patient, but he’s my partner. And I’m going to get through to him if it’s the last thing I do.”

They had gotten off the elevator by now and were headed towards Bobby’s room.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” Dr. Charles commented. “But I’m going to insist on being in the room with him when you do it. Today hasn’t been the best day for him. He still refuses to eat and if that doesn’t change and soon, we’re going to have to put in feeding tube tomorrow.”

“Really?” Eames asked. “That seems a bit cruel. Can’t you just keep him alive by pushing IV fluids?”

“No, not in his current condition. He needs more than just fluids. He’s losing weight, and he didn’t have much, to begin with. He looses anymore and he could go into multiple organ failures.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Eames wondered how Bobby was still alive given all that he had been through. Now he was facing organ failure… When would it end?

Finally, arriving at Bobby’s room, Eames plastered a cheerful smile on her face as she and Dr. Charles walked into the room.

***

When Eames walked into the room, Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. He was worried that he had scared her off by giving her the cold shoulder earlier. But she was here now. Everything seemed better when she was around. And Dr. Charles was with her this time. Why? Did he think the two of them needed supervision?

“Hey Bobby,” Eames said gently as she walked over to and placed the paper bag on the bed “I’ve brought you something.”

“ _A present?_ ” Bobby thought hopefully. 

Eames opened the paper bag and pulled out a plastic evidence bag, the kind with the red edging and labeling. She then opened that bag and pulled out a plush emperor penguin stuffed animal.

Bobby gasped as he reached for his beloved Miss Alex. He had missed her so much. The Daddies had taken her away eight weeks ago and he had been dying to get her back. But at the moment, he couldn’t reach her as Eames held the penguin out of his reach.

“Okay, Bobby,” she said as she glanced nervously over at Dr. Charles. “You can have it in just a moment. But first I’m going to need you to do something.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Bobby said silently as he continued to reach for the penguin, “ _that’s not fair. She’s mine. Give her to me_.”

“I just need you to answer a few questions,” Eames said imploringly. “You don’t even need to speak. Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Do you think you can do that?”

The hand that had been reaching for Miss Alex, closed into a fist. Then after a second, Bobby shook his fist in a slight knocking motion. An outside observer might be confused by the gesture, but Eames saw it for what it was, the American Sign Language word for ‘yes’. He’d tell her anything she wanted to know as long as he didn’t have to talk about his Daddies. They wouldn’t like that. But maybe she’d give him the penguin if he answered enough of her questions. 

“Wonderful,” Eames beamed, a real smile spreading across her face. She got excited and almost forgot what she was doing. It was until she saw the expectant look on Bobby’s face that she remembered to actually ask him a question.

“Okay… um…,” Eames glanced over at Dr. Charles again before she asked her first question. “Do you know where you are?”

“ _Yes, I’m in a hospital in Chicago_ ,” Bobby thought as he made the knocking motion again. 

“Do you know your name?”

“ _Yes, of course, I do. Why is she bothering with questions like this?_ ” *knocking motion*

“Do you know my name?”

“ _Yes_.” *knocking motion*

“Can you say my name?”

Pausing briefly to consider the answer, Bobby extending his index finger together with his middle finger and tap them together with his thumb, like a bird closing its mouth, the American Sign language word for ‘no’.

At this point, Dr. Charles stepped forward and began asking questions as well.

“Bobby,” he said kindly, “do you know what day it is?”

“ _Yes, it’s Tuesday. Eames said it was Tuesday earlier._ ” *knocking motion*

“Do you know what month it is?”

Bobby made the sign for no by tapping his fingers closed.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“ _Not really. Something has happened with my Daddies but I don’t know what. So I guess the answer is no_.” *fingers tapping closed motion*

“Do you know how you came to be in Chicago?”

“ _No idea_.” *fingers tapping closed motion*

“Do you know how long you have been here?”

“ _Two birthdays and two Christmases but that’s not an actual answer, so no._ ” *fingers tapping closed motion*

“Do you want to be here?”

“ _No, definitely not_.” *fingers tapping closed motion*

“Do you want to go back to the house the police found you in?”

“ _No!_ ” *fingers tapping closed motion* “ _Oh, wait! That was a trick question about the Daddies!_ ” *knocking motion* “ _They will be so mad if they find out I answered ‘no’_.” *knocking motion* “ _‘Yes’, tell them I answered ‘yes’.” *knocking motion* “I’m not supposed to talk about our relationship but yes I will go back there if that’s what they want me to do. Please, I don’t want them to be mad.”_

Burying his hands in his lap, Bobby’s breathing had accelerated and he was beginning to cry. What had he done? He had broken so many rules. There would be consequences.

Eames came forward and pressed the penguin into his arms. “Shhhhhhhhh,” she hushed him as she ran her hand through his hair, “it’s okay. Look you’ve got your penguin back. Everything is going to be alright. You’re okay.”

Bringing Miss Alex up to his face, Bobby inhaled deeply. Something was off, Miss Alex smelled different. Dropping the toy in his lap, he studied the pattern of the fur and markings. 

“I had to wash it,” Eames said as if she could read his thoughts. “It had gotten a bit gross. I hope you don’t mind.”

Comforted by Eames’s explanation, Bobby hugged his lovey to his chest and leaned back in the bed, closing his eyes.

“Bobby,” Eames said softly, “now that you have your penguin back. Any chance you feel like eating?”

He didn’t even bother opening his eyes as he raised his hand and tapped his fingers closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay last week. I'm trying to make up for it by writing a lot this week. As always, I greatly appreciate any comments my amazing readers would care to leave me. This portion of the series is turning out to be longer than expected, so I really appreciate you all hanging in there. There are probably only about 8 chapters left in this story, so if anyone has any requests to make, now is the time to make them.


	29. Media

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assistant State's Attorney Peter Stone holds a press conference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for any previous grammatical errors. I was on a train and I didn't have the ability to do my usual proof-reading because I was posting from my phone. But now I've gotten a chance to do some proof-reading and I think I have found and fixed all the major issues.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming today,” Stone said as he began the press conference. He was standing behind a small podium with an array of microphones in front of him. Stone was flanked on the right side by officers from the Intelligence Unit, including Hank Voight. And on his left side were associates from his office. Lieutenant Alexandra Eames was there as well, but she was off to the side and out of the way. The reporters from different papers, television stations, and other news outlets had all gathered in a small room in city hall. They were sitting in the standard folding chairs that had been set up in tidy rows for the event. Along the back wall stood the photographers and videographers, their lights flashing and cameras rolling.

“First off, I would advise that anyone viewing or reading this conference that the subject matter is of a sensitive nature. Parents might want to have any small children leave the room,” said Stone. There was a murmur of peeked interest amongst those gathered. Rarely, if ever, was a warning given during legal debriefings.

Stone looked down at the papers in his hands as he delivered the following statement:

> In the early morning hours this past Saturday, members of the Chicago Police Department’s Intelligence Unit were dispatched to the scene of a domestic disturbance. Upon entering the residence, they located an unconscious male victim that had been barricaded and chained to the floor in the basement. The victim was suffering from malnourishment, broken bones, and other injuries resulting from numerous forceful sexual assaults.
> 
> The victim was transported to Gaffney Chicago Medical Center for treatment. Once there, the police were able to identify him as a missing police officer from New York. It is believed that the victim was abducted for the express purpose of subjecting him to various forms of abuse because of his status as a police officer and his lack of familial ties.  
> 
> We believe the men responsible for this man’s abduction and severe emotional, physical, and sexual abuse are Dean Kipling and Lee Barrett. Kipling was arrested earlier that evening for driving while under the influence. Barrett was apprehended at the O’Hare airport the following evening. These men owned the home the victim was found in and their DNA matches samples taken from the victim. 
> 
> The District Attorney’s office would like to make the public aware that we have arrested these dangerous criminals and are pursuing various charges against them, including kidnapping and rape. Though additional charges of torture and false imprisonment are likely to be filed before the case goes to trial. At this time, I’ll be taking a limited number of questions from the press.

 

A wave of hands and voices combined into a frenzy as every reporter vied for the first question.

“Yes,” Stone said as he pointed to one of the reporters he recognized in the front row, “Ms. Hartman?”

“You say the victim was identified as a missing cop from New York, why haven’t you given us his name?”

“All victims of this type of crime are entitled by law to a certain level of privacy,” Stone replied. “Just because he is a member of law enforcement does not change his right to privacy. I would add because this crime is of such a sensitive nature, that the press needs to respect this man’s privacy and do NOT attempt to pursue his identity.”

Stone pointed to another reporter and answered his question. Repeating this action repeatedly, each time pointing to a different reporter and answering his or her question. 

“If the victim is from New York, why isn’t this being investigated by the FBI?”

“That is a very good question. Before federal agents get involved in a case, there is a certain level of evidence of a federal crime that must be met. Unfortunately, we do not have that level of evidentiary proof at this time.”

“How long ago was the victim kidnapped?”

“We don’t have a definite answer to that question but we postulate that it is in the two-year range.”

“So the victim hasn’t provided the information necessary to calculate the exact date of abduction?”

“Currently the victim is so traumatized that he is unable to give a statement. Like I said, he had multiple broken bones and other injuries from which he is currently recuperation. We believe that pressuring the victim into giving a statement would be detrimental at this time.”

“Is there any evidence of previous victims or was this just a singular event?”

“At this time, we believe that there was only the one victim.”

“Can you tell us more about the suspects?”

“Yes, both men are doctors. Dean Kipling is a genetic researcher at the University of Chicago. Lee Barrett is a plastic surgeon with his own private practice. I will note that these men have been in a serious relationship since they were in college together. They even were married in Canada a few years ago.”

“Are you implying that Barrett and Kipling committed these crimes because they are gay?”

“Absolutely not. The state would never imply that sexual orientation would have anything to do with the motivation for these crimes to be committed.”

Another flurry of shouts and hands in the air indicated the press still had many questions left to ask, but Stone ended the press briefing abruptly by saying, “That’s all the time we have for questions. Thank you all for coming.”

Despite the repeated requests for additional questions, Stone left the room followed by his colleges and the police officers. Lieutenant Eames was not pleased. She caught up with   Stone as he walked down the hallway.

“Hey,” Eames said as she snagged his elbow and pushed him around to face her, “what was that?”

“What was what?” Stone asked, glancing at the group of people that accompanied them in the hallway. 

“You know what I mean,” Eames barked. “What was that pathetic excuse for a press conference?”

“As a state’s attorney, I have a duty to keep the public informed.”

“Bullshit.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You heard me. That’s bullshit. All you’ve managed to do is drag my friend through the mud in front of the media.”

“I was very careful not to mention his name or give away any identifying details.”

“You told them he was from New York. That’s enough. How long do you think it’s going to take for one of them to make a call and find out which cop went missing two years ago? It’s bad enough that the whole department back home knows what happened. But now anyone who can read a paper or a news article online will know. I really don’t know what you were hoping to accomplish in there but you’ve certainly done a _wonderful_ job.” Eames’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she uttered the last few words.

“I will have you know,” Stone retorted, “that I am doing my job. Which is to make life difficult for men such as Barrett and Kipling. That’s what I’m doing. I’m trying to back them into a corner.”

“Back them into a corner? Why...” Eames trailed off as she realized the implications behind Stone’s words. “You’re trying to get them to take a plea deal, aren’t you? You have no intention of taking this to trial.”

“We all have people we have to answer to,” replied Stone. “And my boss doesn’t think we have a chance in hell of winning a case against two intelligent professional men, without any previous history of violent crimes. Not when the victim has a long history of mental issues. I’ve read his file. He’s been suspended twice. He was mentored by a psychological profiler who had a breakdown and then murdered a woman. His mother was a paranoid schizophrenic. He successfully faked a mental illness so he could engage in an unauthorized undercover operation in a mental ward of a prison. And last but not least, his former partner - that would be you - called him antisocial, volatile, bizarre, and mentally unstable, under oath on the witness stand.”

*SMACK*

Eames slapped Stone so hard across the face that the sound reverberated down the hallway.

Quickly pulling Eames away and pushing her towards his officers, Voight took control of the situation. Taking Stone by the arm and pulling him down the hallway in one direction, while Lindsay and Olinsky pulled Eames in the opposite direction, Voight separated the two individuals.

“Are you okay?” Voight asked Stone.

Rubbing his cheek, Stone answered, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I can place her under arrest for assault if you want me to.”

“No... no, that’s not necessary.”

“Good, because you deserved it.”

The attorney glared at the sergeant, his eyes still watering front the sting of the slap.

“That’s a bit harsh,” replied Stone.

“Harsh?” Voight responded. “You know you just brought up probably one of the most painful memories she has and rubbed it in her face. I’m surprised she didn’t shoot you.”

“I don’t think I’m the one she wants to shoot. Pretty sure there are two men, being held in the county corrections facility, that hold that honor,” Stone said. He took a deep breath and then said, “Listen, Voight. Once she calms down, will you bring her over to my office? There are some things we need to discuss and I want us to all be on the same page before we move forward.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Voight before he walked away to rejoin his men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After re-evaluating my outline for this story, I am changing my prediction of chapters left to 7.


	30. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby makes a choice.

The sound of the glass door sliding open distracted Bobby’s attention away from perpetually gazing through the grated window to the outside world. Dr. Charles had entered the room. 

“Good Morning, Robert,” said Dr. Charles cheerily. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Hugging his stuffed penguin, Miss Alex, closer to him, Bobby did not respond. Instead, turning his head to look out the window once more.

The psychiatrist walked over to the bed and pulled up the tray table and set it in front of his patient. Bobby gave the table a quick but nervous glance. He knew the doctors were getting more and more anxious to have him eat. But he had made a resolution not to be swayed by whatever methods they decided to employ. Besides, eating and drinking certain substances could have the same effect on him that bottle of beer had had months ago. He had to be careful. If they Daddies came back for him, then he would eat the food they fed him. But if they Daddies weren’t coming back, then there was no point. Not that he particularly enjoyed being with them but being without them was complete chaos. He just couldn’t function. 

“Robert,” continued Dr. Charles, “I know the past few days has left you upset and disoriented, not to mention in quite a lot of physical discomfort. And all those questions last night probably didn’t help to alleviate any of that distress. I apologize for pushing you further than you were ready to go.

“As a doctor, I have a duty to care for my patients’ physical and mental well-being. And right now, Robert, you are not well. You know as well as I that you can’t stay on this path forever. Parenteral nutrition,” Dr. Charles indicated the intravenous fluids that Bobby was currently connected to, ”can only do so much. You need high caloric substances introduced into your system and soon. So I am here to give you some options.”

From one pocket, Charles pulled out a cup of pudding and a spoon and placed it in front of Bobby. From the other pocket, he pulled a medical sealed sterile package and placed it alongside the pudding cup.

“Do you know what this is?” asked Dr. Charles, indicating the package.

Bobby looked down at the packaging, a thin length of tubing with a blue valve at one end was visible through the clear plastic. He didn’t know exactly what it was but he could have very well guessed.

“It’s a feeding tube,” Charles stated. “It goes in through the nose, down the throat, and into the stomach. I’d have to say that it’s not very pleasant but more benign than other procedures. So, Robert, which will it be?”

“ _Neither_ ,” thought Bobby as he nudged the tray table away from him. 

“Neither isn’t an option,” replied Dr. Charles as if he had read Bobby’s thoughts, “it’s one or the other. If you don’t want to pick one, then we will default to the feeding tube. Do you understand?”

Again, Bobby pushed the table away, hoping that he could win the dispute. 

Letting out a sigh, Dr. Charles picked up the pudding cup and opened it. Taking the spoon, he scooped out a small dollop and extended the spoon towards Bobby’s mouth.

The pudding was an off-white color with a slightly lumpy consistency. Was it tapioca or rice pudding? Bobby wondered. Or maybe just vanilla? A sweet smell filled his nostrils and his mouth began to water. He wanted to know but he just couldn’t allow himself to give in. Pressing his lips together tightly, Bobby shook his head no.

“Please, Bobby,” Dr. Charles implored, using the patient’s nickname for the first time, “please take a bite. I really do not want to have you force fed.”

“ _I can’t_ ,” Bobby said silently, “ _I just can’t_.”

Taking the spoon away from Dr. Charles’s still extended hand, Bobby placed it back on the tray table and pushed it away. Of course, it was at this precise moment that his stomach decided to grumble in protest.

***

Dr. Charles had paged Dr. Choi up from the emergency department to perform the procedure. And the two of them were conferring outside of Goren’s room.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dr. Choi asked the chief of psychiatry.

“Do you have a better option?” responded Dr. Charles.

“No,” replied Dr. Choi. “But it’s going to be really unpleasant and downright painful if he resists. We can’t use a numbing agent because of the drug intolerance so he’s going to feel it.” He took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “Any chance you can have Dr. Reese do it? She has the training.”

“As confident as I am in my resident’s abilities to perform these types of procedures,” said Charles, “she has a tendency to get a bit flustered. And I don’t think he likes her.”

“I doubt he’ll like me either after we’re done. What about his friend, Lieutenant Eames? Shouldn’t she be here?”

“I’m afraid the Lieutenant would be more of a hindrance if she were here. It’s better we get this done with before she gets back.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

***

“ _That was a dumb decision_ ,” a voice within him said as Bobby looked through the glass at the two doctors having a discussion, undoubting about him. “ _They are not going to let you just waste away. Unless you forgot, you are in the psychiatric unit, which means you are not deemed capable of making rational decisions. So now they are going to force a tube down your throat and feed you anyway. It would’ve been so much easier just to have eaten the damn pudding_.”

Shaking his head to try and clear the voice away, Bobby wasn’t sure what part of him had been speaking. This voice was definitely not the cruel and demeaning voice he was used to hearing. Just then the doctors walked into the room, accompanied by two nurses carrying supplies.

“Robert,” said Dr. Charles, “this is Doctor Choi. You probably don’t remember him. But he was the first doctor to see you when you came to the hospital. He’ll be the one performing the nasogastric intubation.”

Dr. Choi had begun to prepare for the procedure by laying out the necessary supplies. As he did so, he took the time to explain the process. “First, I will measure the length of the tubing from your nose, around your ear, and down to your stomach. Then I’ll curl the tube at one end slightly before lubricating the tip. Next, I will insert it through the nose and down into the stomach. It helps if you can try and swallow as much as possible during insertion. Once it is in place, we will secure it and start to administer the caloric solution.”

Bobby watched at Dr. Choi removed the tube from the packaging and leaned in towards him to take the appropriate measurements. Jerking away at the proximity of another man, Bobby let out a slight whimper and hugged Miss Alex tightly.

“Robert,” Dr. Charles warned, “let Doctor Choi do his job or we will have to put you in restraints. I think we’d all like to avoid that if possible. Just calm down, take a deep breath, and everything will be alright.”

“Okay, let’s try this again,” said Dr. Choi. He approached Bobby slowly and gently took the necessary measurements, marking the tube with a piece of tape to indicate the point of insertion. Then applying lubricant to the end of the tube, Dr. Choi started to insert it into a  nostril.

The odd tingling sensation caused Bobby to jerk his head away. The look on Dr. Choi’s face said it all. It was clear that he was losing his patience. 

“Nurse,” Dr. Choi called. And one of the nurses came around and placed her hands gently on either side of Bobby’s head, holding it in place. 

Once again the doctor started to insert the tube, the tingling in his nose was quickly replaced by pain. Bobby started to feel like he was drowning as a painful burning sensation passed from his nasal cavity to the back of his throat. He began to gag.

“I know it’s hard but try and swallow,” said Choi.

“ _No_ ,” thought Bobby, “ _this is too much_.” He tried to grab the tube and pull it back out but the other nurse and Doctor Charles came over and secured his hands by putting them back into the restraints.

“Swallow,” instructed Dr. Choi, “Robert, swallow.”

“It’s okay, Robert,” said Charles. “You’re okay. You’re going to be fine.”

“ _I’m not okay,_ ” thought Bobby as he began to cry. “ _This is not okay. Why couldn’t you just let me be_?” 

With his patient’s movements subdued, Dr. Choi was able to finish inserting the tube and secure it with a bandage to Bobby’s face. 

“There you go. It’s in. Nice job,” praised Dr. Choi. Then taking a syringe, aspirating some fluid, and testing the pH, Choi confirmed that the tube was in the correct position. A bag of grayish brown liquid was hung from the pole beside the bed and was connected to the tube. Bobby watched as the fluid made its way down the tube and then back up towards his face.

The burning sensation in his nose and throat hadn’t ceased and now his stomach was being pumped full of some sort of brown sludge. This was more taxing than he thought it would be and Bobby began to fight against the restraints, he breathing increasing rapidly.

“Robert, Robert, look at me,” commanded Dr. Charles. “Look at me. Slow breathes. You can do this. You’re fine. Just relax.”

A cry of desperation escaped Bobby’s lips. This wasn’t fair. He was already in pain before but this just added to it. He couldn’t escape any of it. It was just like being back in that basement being strapped to that chair, except this was worse because his legs weren’t broken then.

“Hey, hey,” Dr. Charles was close-by trying to get his attention, “Robert, you’re okay. I know the tube is uncomfortable but you can handle it. You’ve been through so much already. This is so small in comparison. It’s just a little tube to help you get better. That’s all, just a little tube. You are doing such a good job. Trust me. You are going to be okay. Robert, are you there? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The words of re-assurement had momentary distracted Bobby from the pain. And though he couldn’t move his hands much, he balled his hand into a fist and made the knocking motion for yes. (Nodding his head would’ve moved the tube around and he wanted to avoid that.) Luckily, Dr. Charles saw the gesture.

“Good. I am so proud of you, Robert,” said Charles. “Now all you need to do is lay back and relax. Okay? Just take slow breathes.

At this point, the nurses had cleared away the used supplies and had left the room with Dr. Choi. But Dr. Charles remained. He had placed his hand on Bobby’s up left arm and was stroking him ever so gently while continuing to offer words of encouragement. Suddenly, the doctor stooped down to grab something off of the floor. It was Miss Alex. She must’ve fallen to the ground when Bobby had been struggling.

“Here you go,” said Charles as he placed the penguin back on the bed, between Bobby’s arm and chest. “We wouldn’t want Mister Penguin to get stepped on.”

“ _Not Mister, Miss_ ,” Bobby silently corrected the psychiatrist. But he really didn’t care about the misgendering, he was just glad to have the small amount of comfort the toy provided. It helped. Not a lot but it helped nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not getting up more chapters last/this week. I took a trip to Chicago and that took up most of my free time. But if any of you are interested in seeing what I picked up while I was there, then click the [link](https://flic.kr/p/235dyf7).


	31. Bluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this chapter for the last few days and decided to stay up late to get it finished. Starts off with a one-sided phone call. The dashes indicate when the other party is speaking. 
> 
> Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors :O Be sure to let me know if you spot any!

Back at the 21st district precinct, Eames paced back in one of the interrogation rooms while she was on a conference call with the commissioner and other members of the NYPD brass. 

“Yes,” she replied to a question on the other end. “I understand that the assistant district attorney has painted the NYPD in a bad light. But I promise I had no idea what the content of that statement was going to be before Stone read it.”

———

“I have been overseeing things on this end. And I met with a few of the staff from the attorney’s office yesterday during a meeting at the hospital but none of them said anything about even having a news conference, let alone releasing a statement to the media.”

———

“Honestly, before last Friday, I was the only who thought he was missing, besides that bastard Peterson. So if the media comes to the conclusion that the NYPD lost a detective and didn’t bother looking for him, it won’t be entirely inaccurate. 

———

“I don’t have any control over the media but I doubt there will be any headline that says the NYPD hasn’t done enough to further and assist with the investigation and prosecution. I can’t help if it’s a public relations nightmare and I don’t care. There are more important matters at hand.

———

“Such as Goren’s reputation for one. Do you know how many calls and messages I have gotten from other members of the department asking me about him or wanting me to confirm the details? It is ridiculous. So much for brothers in blue, they’re all a bunch of sharks wanting to take a bite.”

———

“Unfair? You want to talk about what’s fair? What would be fair is if we had started looking for Goren two years ago when he went missing. What would be fair is if the department didn’t act like a bunch of middle school kids spreading around gossip about an injured officer. What would be fair is if Goren’s name doesn’t end up in the tomorrow’s headlines because some cop wasn’t willing to take a payout.

———

“How do you know it won’t happen? It’s not like you can force everyone who’s heard about Goren’s abduction to keep their mouths shut.”

———

“Fine. But I don’t think you’ll be successful. It just takes one leak and the whole dam goes.”

———

“I doubt anyone on this end will talk. Sergeant Voight runs his crew with an iron fist. As far as the attorney’s office, they seem to have most of their ducks in a row. Except….”

———

Eames sighed heavily before telling them the next part. “Except that it looks like they want to offer Barrett and Kipling a plea deal.”

———

“I don’t know. The conversation ended before I could get around to asking Stone about the terms of a plea.” (Eames didn’t mention the conversation had ended because she had hit the attorney in the face.)

———

“I don’t agree that a plea deal would be the best course of action. But I’ll be sure to meet back up with the ADA soon and get an answer.”

———

The call abruptly ended as the commissioner disconnected the line after saying the words, “see that you do.” Not that Eames wanted to stay on the phone a minute longer but he could’ve at least said goodbye. “ _Doesn’t matter_ ,” she thought to her self.

A knock at the door announced Voight’s entrance into the room. Eames held up the phone in her hand and asked, “You weren’t listening in on that were you?”

“No,” replied Voight. “Why? Who was it?”

“Oh, you know,” Eames said flippantly, “just the NYPD police commissioner and half a dozen other men with a bunch of stars on on their lapels, so no one important or anything.”

“What did they want?” Voight asked.

“Just to complain about how this is a publicity nightmare and that I need to somehow fix it. Like I can just turn back time and stop Stone from ever mentioning the NYPD. At least they’re going to try and keep Goren’s identity confidential but since the whole department already knows, I don’t see how that’s possible. But we’re good on this end aren’t we?”

“Of course, my men won’t make a peep.”

“Well, that’s one thing we can put in the win column. Everything else is a wreck.”

“How so?”

“For one thing, the NYPD thinks a plea deal is a great idea. Gets them out of the spotlight sooner. And then there’s the fact that Bobby is in terrible physical and mental condition. What am I going to do with him? Who is going to take care of him? I don’t have any answers to those questions.” Eames slumped down into one of the chairs and buried her face in her hands.

“Hey,” said Voight walking over to her and patting her on the back, “it’s going to be alright. I will do everything I can to help.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, really I do. But Bobby is a mess. Last night, when Charles and I got him to answer a few yes or no questions, he completely broke down. Charles had asked him if he wanted to go back to the house and he signed “no” but then you could just see this look of absolute terror come over his face. It was as if he had somehow made a huge mistake and he processed to sign the word “yes” over and over again. Can you imagine what it must be like to not even be able to answer a simple question honestly because you are too afraid of betraying the men that hurt you in the first place? It makes my blood boil. I really want to nail these bastards to the wall. Meanwhile, everyone with the power to do so wants to offer the fuckers a plea deal.”

Voight sat down in the chair across from Eames. “You know,” he said, “and please don’t shot me for saying this, but maybe a plea deal isn’t such a bad thing. It would spare Goren the long drawn out and excruciating process of a trial. The defense will put him through the wringer. Every aspect of his life will be scrutinized and laid bare. If they take the plea deal, then they will undoubtedly go to prison, hopefully for a very long time. And Goren can get the time he needs to heal and move on.”

“But if they plead out, they will get a reduced sentence. They deserve to get the book thrown at them.”

“And I don’t disagree with that. I’m just trying to be realistic.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Well,” said Voight, “you can start by going to Stone’s office and discussing the terms of the plea deal he plans on offering. You could possibly get him to up the ante.”

“Are you kidding?” Eames asked rhetorically. “I hit the guy in the face. There is no way he’s going to want to speak with me.”

“Maybe you’re right,” replied Voight. “But it’s worth a shot.”

***

There was a small, hole in the wall, Mom and Pop café not too far from Stone’s office. It was close enough that he could walk there when he wanted a break from the office and obscure enough that he wouldn’t be bothered. That’s why he was surprised to see Kipling and Barrett’s lawyer already sitting at the lunch counter when Stone stepped through the door.  Klein looked up when he heard the brass bell above the door chime as it was opened. He was mid-bite when he waved Stone over to join him.

“What are you doing here Klein?” Stone asked tersely, displeased the opposing attorney had found it necessary to desecrate his private sanctuary.

“Looking for you of course,” replied Klein his mouth still full of food as he pulled out the stool next to him and gave it a pat. “Please sit.”

Begrudgingly, Stone sat down next to Klein, raising a few fingers casually in the direction of the woman behind the counter. Within seconds she had brought Stone a cup of coffee (one cream and two sugars). 

“Thank you, Martha,” Klein said to the woman.

“Anything else I can get you, dear? Your usual?” asked Martha.

“No thank you. Just the coffee for now. I won’t be staying long,” replied Stone.

As Martha walked away to help another customer, Klein finally swallowed his food and began to speak.

“That was a bit of a low blow today,” said Klein.

“What? The press conference?” replied Stone. “I don’t think it was a low blow at all considering your clients have been raping a cop continually for the past two years.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” retorted Klein. “My clients have merely been sleeping with their boyfriend who used to be a cop. You are twisting the truth to fit your narrative. May I remind you that my clients are to be presumed innocent. Instead, you have muddied the water for potential jurors by trying to play this out in the court of public opinion. I won’t stand for it Stone, I simply will not stand for it.”

Taking a sip of coffee, Stone swirled the contents around in his mouth as he contemplated his reply.

“So is that why you’re here?” Stone asked. “To reiterate the arguments you made during the bail hearing?”

“I am simply here as a common curtesy,” replied Klein. “I wanted to let you know that your case is dead in the water.  Goren is a rogue with a history of bizarre behavior. Do you really think a jury is going to buy that a guy like him was actually raped or that he chose to run off with my clients? Your “victim” has far too many scandalous incidents in his past that I am more than happy to dig up and parade in front of the jury. You should be careful.”

Despite Klein’s apparent efforts of trying to intimate the assistant district attorney, Stone was made of sterner stuff. No, this was just Klein’s attempt to bully him and Stone was calling his bluff.

“Oh,” said Stone, “I am confident in a jury’s ability to see the truth. I have enough physical evidence that would make even the most skeptical juror a believer. And that’s just the CSI type material that juries lap right up. I haven’t even touched on the amount of circumstances evidence or the number of expert witnesses we have lined up. For every curve ball you throw my way, I will knock it out of the park.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” replied Klein with a sneer, as if he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Try me,” stated Stone, with an equal measure of cockiness. He picked up his coffee and took another swallow while still maintaining eye contact before then placing it back on the counter, along with a few dollar bills. Then, turning his back on the opposing counsel, Stone walked out the door saying, “Tell your clients to get used to being locked up. They won’t be seeing the outside of a cell for a very long time.”

***

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

“Come in,” Stone called as sat at his desk reviewing the case files. 

Sergeant Voight entered the room tentatively. 

“Ahhh,” said Stone, “Sergeant Voight, I’m glad you’re here. Please take a seat.”

“I haven’t come alone,” replied Voight.

“Oh?” question Stone. 

“Lieutenant Eames as come along as well,” said Voight. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Stone confirmed.

Eames entered the room behind Voight, taking a seat alon side him in front of Stone’s desk.

“I’d like to—“ Eames began to say before Stone cut her off.

“No. If you’re going to apologize, don’t bother. I should be the one apologizing to you. I was totally out of line bringing up that old court transcript. Please forgive me.”

“I…” Eames said, taken aback but the attorney’s sudden change of demeanor, “I didn’t mean those things that I said about him. It was from a letter I had written right when I first met Bobby. He’s an acquired taste and I just hadn’t gotten used to him yet. Once I had, I realized I was wrong to write the letter an promptly withdrew it.”

“I know,” replied Stone, “I read the whole thing. Very admirable of you to defend him like you did. I know how painful it can be being forced to eat crow in front of a jury. Again, I am sorry for bringing that up. You have enough on your plate as it is.”

“Well that’s all well and good,” interjected Voight. “But that’s not why we’re here.”

Sighing deeply, Stone shut the folder in front of him and set his voice resolutely. “I have been instructed by my superiors that in no uncertain terms, that I am to secure a plea deal and not take this to trial. They want the press that comes with capturing and imprisoning criminals but not the press that comes along with a lengthy and drawn out trial.”

“Believe it or not,” Eames stated, “the NYPD brass is looking to put this behind them as quickly as possible.”

“So we are in agreement then?” surmised Stone. “To move forward with offering a plea deal.”

“What makes you think they’ll even be open to taking one?” Eames asked.

“Well a few things actually,” replied Stone. “First, I just ran into their attorney who was doing the whole aggressive posturing play. That means they’re scared. Second, I still have the federal angle I can work. Federal charges carry a lot more weight than local ones do. If I can get them to believe the Feds are getting involved and then I can strong-arm them into making a deal. And third…” Stone picked up a different folder and laid it open in front of him. “Third is Goren’s mental status.”

“How do you mean?” inquired Voight. 

“Well,” said Stone, “we have them dead to rights for penetrative sex with Goren, which they’ve already admitted to having. Couple that with Goren’s diminished capacity and his injuries and you have an iron-clad case for aggravated criminal sexual assault.”

“What if they claim his diminished capacity is a new development or somehow faked?” Voight asked.

“Doctor Charles is an expert in his field,” Stone replied. “If he says that Goren has been functioning under a diminished capacity for an extended amount of time, then I believe him and so would any sane rational person. They won’t be able to fight us on this one.”

“Have you even spoken to them?” asked Eames. “They’re like snakes, just waiting to strike. Any way they can manipulate or turn something in their favor, they’ll do it.”

“I’ve had my fair share of dealing with unsavory characters,” said Stone, “and this I know for sure. When you call their bluff, they’ll accept the terms of the deal to avoid facing the music.”

“So what terms do you plan on offering them?” questioned Voight.

“Maximum sentencing for aggravated criminal sexual assault is 30 years,” answered Stone. “They’ll be old men before they get out.”

“And the minimum sentence…?” Eames asked.

Stone paused before answering. “Six,” he said quietly.

“Six?” Eames asked in disbelief. “Six years? That’s it. You get them to plead guilty and they could potentially get only six years. That’s not even accounting for if they qualify for early parole!”

“But that’s potentially six years for every count,” said Voight, cutting Eames short. “How many counts are we talking?”

“Without a statement from Goren, we’ve only got physical evidence for the most recent assault. But,” said Stone quickly moving from the bad news to the good news, “they don’t know that. So I’ll start with multiple counts, that way I have wiggle room if they want to counter. And I’ll push for the maximum at sentencing.”

“Six years isn’t enough,” remarked Eames.

“I don’t disagree with you,” replied Stone. “But right now, it’s all we got.”


	32. Benefactor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The media attention has some far reaching effects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name 'Basil' is pronounced the British way with a short 'a'. NOT the American way with a long 'A'. It's basil not bAsil. As the author, I think it's important, though it probably isn't.
> 
> This chapter is vital for the progression of the plot both for the end of this work and the beginning of the next.

Roger Basil had been a kind and intelligent man. He had come from old money and, unlike many of his peers, actually believed in the importance of helping others. It was little wonder that he became a psychologist. As time passed, he saw an opportunity to change the way mental illness was viewed and treated within his social and economic sphere of influence. As a result, he founded the Basil Institute in New York City. As the institute’s proprietor and director, it had been his pride and joy. 

When it came to the care of his residents, Roger insured that they had all the necessary tools available to help them succeed in life, despite having the misfortune of suffering from mental illness. The institute boasted the best and most modern psychiatric care money could provide. In addition to regular sessions with the best counselors, residents could take part in recreational, music, art, and other alternate forms of therapy. The institute was also staffed with medical professionals that were capable of treating any physical illness that accompanied the mental impairments of its residents.

The institute was run as a for-profit business, making treatment of mental illness an expensive luxury only the most wealthy could afford. Some might believe the Basil Institute was a type of rehabilitation center for the rich. But Roger saw it as a vehicle for changing the way his peers viewed mental illness. Make seeking treatment for mental illness as fashionable as plastic surgery and, hopefully, some of the negative stigma and prejudice against it dissipate.

When Roger passed away suddenly due to cancer complications, Dr. Everett Fray stepped in as the head director for the institute. Everett had been Roger’s right-hand man and friend. And for the past years, he prided himself on running a tight ship that continued Roger’s legacy. The job was challenging but he found himself capable of the task, except for one specific aspect…

*BEEP*

“Doctor Fray,” the voice of Everett’s secretary, Susan, came over the speaker, “there’s a call for you on line one. It’s the proprietor, do you want me to take a message?”

“No,” replied Everett, “I’ll get it. Thank you.” But silently he thought, “ _What now_?”

Picking up the phone and pressing the button that was flashing red, he said:

“Hello? This is Fray.” 

———

“Yes?”  
——— 

“No, I hadn’t seen that particular news article.”

———

“Wow. Really? That’s terrible. But I don't see why you felt it necessary to call and tell me about it?”

———

“I’m sure the folks in Chicago have already provided him with the necessary care he needs. But if you like me to, I could make some calls and —“

———

“Wait, what? I can’t go to Chicago. I have no business interfering in police matters. Besides, I have no idea what type of condition this man is in.”

———

“Just because he’s from New York, doesn’t mean he is planning on coming back here. I’m sure he has plenty of friends and family that are looking after him. We have no business getting involved. Besides, I doubt a cop will have the financial means to afford coming to the institute.”  
  ———

“The charitable endowment isn’t meant for you to just dole out willy-nilly. And you cannot make those decisions unilaterally. There are applications and procedures that have to be met before we could even consider accepting a new resident. What you are asking for is not possible.”

———

“Listen, I understand that you think it’s something Roger would have done but he’s not here anymore. And as director, it is my job to run this institute responsibly.”

———

“No. Don’t do that. Please, it’s not a good idea.”

———

“But—“

———

“Fine. I’ll do it, not that you’re giving me much of a choice. But don’t blame me if this doesn’t turn out well.”

———

“Goodbye.”

Everett put the phone down with a hard click. The proprietor was always difficult to deal with (not to mention manipulative) and somehow he had ended up agreeing to go to Chicago to try and bring back an unknown rape victim to the institute. Granted, they had the ability and staff to take care of someone dealing with mental and physical trauma but the other residents might not take to having a charity case in their midst. This was a bad idea. 

Paging his secretary to come into his office, he said, “Susan, I’m going to need you to book me a flight to Chicago in the morning. There are some matters to which I have been instructed to attend to.”

“Tomorrow morning?” questioned Susan. “That’s quick.”

“Yeah,” replied Everett, “the proprietor insisted. Apparently, if I don’t go to see a potential resident and offer the institute’s assistance, I’m dishonoring the late Dr. Basil’s memory. And if I am willing to dishonor his memory, I have no business running his institute.”

“The proprietor actually said that?” Susan asked.

“Yes,” Fray said with a sigh. “So please book me that flight. I have to go home and pack.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am excited to know everyone's thoughts on this chapter. I've been planning this chapter from the very beginning!


	33. Involved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames heads back to the hospital at the end of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops... Looks like I missed this chapter when calculating the number of chapters I had left to write. I feel like the end is in sight but I'm having a hard time getting there.

A pretty blonde woman in a flattering red dress stood outside the Gaffney Chicago Medical Center. She was having a conversation with two men standing next to a large white van printed with the NBC logo and a large number 5. One of the men was wearing a headset while the other was holding a large camera. She was balancing a microphone in one hand while fluffing her hair with the other. Eames avoided them as she made her way to the hospital entrance. The woman and her colleges weren’t the only news team positioned around the hospital. There was an assortment of at least six or seven other crews lined up along the street. 

“ _This can’t be good,_ ” thought Eames as she made her way through the doors of the hospital. Walking into the building, it was apparent that anyone that had a moment to spare was huddled around the nearest television set watching the evening news report. That same woman, who Eames had passed walking in, was now on display on the TV screen. Joining the rest of the crowd, Eames watched the woman present her report:

> “I’m outside of Gaffney Chicago Medical Center where the victim in the case is being treated. The New York City police officer was allegedly abducted by two Chicago doctors and then held in a basement where he was subsequently physically and sexually assaulted a multitude of times over the course of two years. No word yet on his identity or current condition, other than that the victim was too traumatized to make a statement. 
> 
> “The two men accused of these crimes are Doctor Lee Barrett and Doctor Dean Kipling. Barrett is a plastic surgeon and Kipling a genetic researcher. These men are not your typical criminals. They are both well educated and have no history of prior violent offenses.  Their co-workers say the two men were a long-time couple but that they kept mostly to themselves. Little is known about their possible motivation but prosecutors believe that because the victim was a figure of some authority and had no family ties, he made for an appealing target. 
> 
> “Live from the scene, I’m Trina Orlando reporting for NBC 5 news.”

“What is everyone doing?” came the authoritative voice of  Ms. Goodwin. “This is a hospital, not a cinema. Stop standing around watching TV and get back to work.”

The crowd scattered like birds being startled from the roost, leaving Eames alone to face the hospital chief administer.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” said Ms. Goodwin, “how are you doing tonight? I saw that you were at that news conference this morning. So you must’ve had a long day.”

“I really have had a long day,” replied Eames, “and it hasn’t been easy, what with trying to balance out the differing agendas of both cities. But I wanted to check in on Bobby before heading back to my hotel for the night. How was your day?” 

“Not much better than yours. The hospital has been inundated with news requests the minute Stone mentioned us in that press release. Mostly from news outlets in Chicago and New York at first, but then some of the national outlets have picked up the story as well. I’m betting by tomorrow morning, it will be front page news across the nation. I have said the phrase ‘no comment’ so many times that I’ll probably be saying it in my sleep. And then I’ve had to up security because I have reporters, journalists, and photographers trying to sneak in.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Heaven knows I’m used to Bobby being the cause of a commotion.”

“Oh, my dear, this isn’t his fault, the poor thing. I am duty-bound to provide safety and security for all the hospital’s patients. I’m only doing what I would do for anyone else in his situation. Besides, he’s had a hard day.”

“He’s had a hard day? What do you mean?”

“Come with me, you’ll see.”

Ms. Goodwin led the way up to the psychiatric ward with Eames trailing behind her. The thoughts spinning through the lieutenant’s mind were moving so fast that she couldn’t even keep a hold of one. A feeling of dread washed over her. Finally, when Bobby’s room came into view, Eames could see him through the glass. He was awake but was lying perfectly still, his penguin nestled between his left arm and chest. And there was a length of tubing emanating from his nose, secured to his cheek with a bandage, and wrapped back around his ear.

The feelings of dread left her body and were replaced by a low and grumbling anger. Opening the door, Eames stepped into the room. 

“I should’ve known better than to leave you alone,” Eames remarked. Noticing that he had tear tracks down his face and that Bobby was once again restrained, she stepped towards him, wanting to unbuckle the straps. But the sound of someone else entering the room behind her caused Eames to stop and turn around.

“Lieutenant Eames?” a young woman with frizzy brown hair enquired, “I’m Doctor Reese. I’m one of the physicians assigned to this case. May we step outside to have a word?”

“No,” replied Eames bitterly. “Where is Doctor Charles? I would like to speak with him.”

“Doctor Charles left because he had some family matters he needed to attend to. But I assure you that I am fully capable of addressing any concerns you might have. If you’d like to step out into—“

“No,” Eames interrupted. “We can talk right here.” She turned her back on the doctor as she made her way over to Bobby and took a hold of one of the restraints to undo it. 

“Lieutenant!” shrieked the young doctor, “I can’t have you doing that.” Grabbing a hold of Eames’ arm, Reese pulled her away from Bobby. 

Jerking her arm away from the doctor, Eames hissed, “Keep your hands off me.”

“I’m sorry,” replied the Reese, “but he’ll pull out the tube if his hands are free.”

“Then maybe he shouldn’t have had that done to him. Did anyone even bother to ask him? He can answer simple questions. It’s not like he is completely devoid of all rational thought.”

“Doctor Charles was the one who made the decision after Mr. Goren once again refused to eat. There was a serious risk involved if we didn’t get some sort of sustenance into his body and quickly.”

“Well, I should’ve been informed.”

“Legally speaking, the hospital has custody of him and we are responsible for making the decisions about his care. There was no reason to involve you in the decision-making process. We did what we had to do to keep Mr. Goren alive.”

“First off, it’s Detective Goren. He’s a detective. He has earned that title, so stop referring to him as mister. Second, don’t you dare tell me I have no right to be involved in the decisions because _Detective_ Goren and I were partners for over a decade. Why else do you think I am here?”

“I…” Reese faltered in the face of such stern opposition.

“No,” responded Eames, “I can see that you don’t understand. Why don’t you make things easier on yourself and just leave?”

“But—“

“I won’t remove the restraints if that’s what you’re worried about. Just leave me alone with my partner if you don’t mind.”

“I—“

“Just leave,” Eames said quietly but firmly.

Finally, the young doctor relented and left the room.

Turning towards Bobby, Eames walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at him closely. The tube that had been inserted was extremely thin and didn’t look to be too intrusive. Smoothing her thumbs over his cheeks to wipe away the tracks the tears had left, she noticed that his color had gotten better. Whereas he had been pale before, now there was a soft and pale flush to his cheeks.

“How are you feeling?” Eames asked him.

Bobby met her eyes, then glanced down at his hand to indicate that that is where he wanted her to look. Despite the restraints, he could still move his hand enough to communicate yes or no. But he did not make a knocking motion or tap his fingers closed. Instead, he curled his fingers and scratched the sheets.

“Itch? The tube itches,” inferred Eames.

Bobby made a knocking motion to indicate an affirmative response.

“Does it hurt?”

*knocking motion*

“Would you pull it out if you could?”

*knocking motion*

Eames sighed heavily. She didn’t want Bobby to be uncomfortable but it was very possible that the feeding tube was just better off staying put. If he was going to recover from this, then the first step was to start remedying his physical ailments. 

“I’m sorry Bobby,” she said, “but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. Did Doctor Charles at least talk to you about it before it happened?

*knocking motion*

“He’s a good man, that one. I don’t know about that Doctor Reese though. Do you think I was too rough with her?”

A hint of smile appeared on his lips as he tapped his fingers closed to indicate ‘no’.


	34. The Plea Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee Barrett & Dean Kipling's fate is finally determined

The ring of the morning bell roused Lee from his restless slumber. He had only been in police custody for a few days but he was already exhausted of the constant supervision and strict timetable imposed by the corrections facility. But that wasn’t even the half of it, he had been placed with other ‘violent’ offenders. A reflection of the manner in which the judicial system functions, these other offenders tended to be part of racial minority groups and lacking in formal education. Lee stood out like a sore thumb amongst these men, making him an easy target. He did is best to keep his head down and stay out of the way but he had already had a couple of close encounters that he did not want to repeat. Thankfully, none of the other men knew that he was homosexual or the charges against him and Dean. 

It hurt Lee’s heart to think about his husband. The two men had been separated while they were being held on remand. They hadn’t seen each other or been in contact since they last met with their lawyer. Lee was starting to get more and frazzled and he just wanted to be with his husband. “ _Damn that Bobby_ ,” he thought, “ _this is all his fault_.” The fucking whore had ruined everything. Now his life was ruined forever. And this could potentially spell the end of him and Dean. 

Skipping the food hall, Lee went directly to the recreation room where he tried to hide away in the corner, hoping no one would notice him. The room would eventually fill up with men crowding around and fighting over what channel to watch on the sole out-dated tube television suspended on the wall. Lee must’ve drifted back off to sleep when he was awakened by a loud voice aimed in his direction.

“Hey faggot,” called one of the many men sitting around the TV, “is that you?” The man pointed up at the screen where both Lee and Dean’s mugshots were on display. 

“What?” came Lee’s befuddled reply.

“Did you and your boy really rape a cop?” asked the man.

The other inmates in the room were watching Nancy Grace, a controversial and outspoken legal commentator/journalist, hash out the details of the case against Barrett and Kipling. She was currently interviewing some member of law enforcement:

 

> “Chilling details are emerging from Chicago about the manner of this man’s abduction and captivity,” said Grace. “But as a police officer, should this victim have the same rights as other victims? As a public servant, should a cop involved in a crime have the privilege of having his name withheld? I for one want to know what this man was doing that led to his capture. Was this motivated by revenge or was he a dirty cop that had it coming?”
> 
> “Well,” replied the interviewee, “as a member of law enforcement, any crime committed against him carries with it a higher penalty. So whatever motivated Barrett and Kipling to rape him, they better have a damn good reason. Though I don’t doubt that these men are regretting their actions now that they have been caught. As doctors, they are held to a higher standard of care because they are obligated to step in when a person is experiencing a serious medical event. Instead, they are the ones that caused the events that led to this man being hospitalized with broken bones and other serious injuries.”
> 
> “But what I want to know,” said Grace, “is this cop’s identity. Surely, if this man was a competent police officer, then he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be ambushed and sexually assaulted by these men.”

“What the fuck!” exclaimed Lee, unconsciously saying his thoughts out loud.

“So what do you say faggot,” asked the inmate again, “did you rape that cop?”

Bristling at the vulgar term, Lee barked, “Go to hell,” before storming out of the room.

It was probably a good thing that a corrections officer had come across Lee’s path a few minutes later, otherwise, Lee might’ve let his anger boil over and would’ve taken some ill-advised actions.

“Your lawyer is here to meet with you,” the CO had said.

Following the officer to the secluded interview room just past the counselors’ offices, Lee contemplated what he was going to say to his lawyer, Klein. After what he had just seen on the television, he was beginning to doubt his lawyer’s abilities to leverage the situation in their favor. He did not want to spend his life behind bars but if they went to trial, then every potential juror would have seen the news and be influenced and be more likely to return a guilty verdict. This was not good. No, it was bad, very very bad.

“Lee!” Dean shouted as the door was opened. Running up to his husband, Dean grasped him in a strong yet tender embrace. Clearly, he had been worried.

“Shhh…” Lee said as he stroked his partner’s face, “I’m okay.” 

A soft kiss was exchanged before Klein interrupted by clearing his throat.

“If you two don’t mind,” Klein began, “there are some things we need to discuss.”

“Such as?” Lee asked.

“Such as the prosecution would like to meet,” replied Klein.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Dean interjected.

“Good,” said Klein. “It means that they want to offer us a plea deal.”

“We’re not interested in a plea deal,” remarked Dean.

“Umphhmm,” Lee snorted in dissent.

Turning towards his husband, Dean asked, “What?”

“You obviously haven’t seen the news,” Lee replied.

“Why?” asked Dean, then looking over at their lawyer, “Is it bad?”

“Well,” answered Klein reluctantly, “it isn’t good.”

“But—“ Dean was cut off by Lee. “If the terms are good, we’ll have to take the deal, Dean.”

“What?” Dean replied, switching to speaking in Latin so Klein couldn’t understand them. “But Lee, we covered our bases with the video and the emails. There is no way a jury would convict us. Bobby’s just a whore. No one will believe him.”

“You mind talking in English,” requested Klein.

Giving the lawyer a glare, Lee replied in turn, “Dean, sweetheart, do you know what is going to happen to us? A couple of queers like us are not going to make it in a maximum security prison. That’s the risk we run if we let this go to trial. Better we use this as an opportunity to get the best deal possible.”

“Lee,” Dean said dejectedly, “What about finding the girl? What about our work? We’ve come so far. This isn’t fair.”

“I know,” Lee said putting his arm around Dean, “but it’s the only logical choice.”

Looking down at the ground Dean nodded as tears slowly started to trickle down his cheeks.

“Okay,” Lee said to Klein, in English, “we’ll take a deal. But the prosecution is going to be meeting us on our terms, not theirs.”

***

Stone trudged up to Klein’s office, the ADA hadn’t wanted to meet with opposite counsel this morning but Klein had insisted. He had also insisted that they meet at his office instead of a more common ground, a power move if there ever was one. Klein wanted the home court advantage. “ _Fine. Let him have it then_ ,” Stone thought.

The receptionist greeted Stone as he walked into the suite and escorted him to Klein’s office. Klein wasn’t there, of course, making Stone stand around waiting. _Another play for power_. Finally, Klein entered the room, his arms full of court files. _Props to make it appear as if he is too busy for me. This guy is really laying it on thick._

“Ahhh,” said Klein, “Mr. Stone. So glad you could make it. Please have a seat.”

“Why am I here, Klein?” Stone asked as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and took a seat.

“I believe you were planning on offering my clients a plea deal,” answered Klein as he set the files down on his desk, “I wanted to know what terms you had in mind.”

“Who said anything about a plea deal?” remarked Stone.

“Don’t play coy with me, Stone. I know the pressure you’re under to close this case quickly. But me, I’m paid by the hour. I could drag this out for months and keep lining my pockets.”

“I see, so that’s why I’m here. So you can tell me that you plan on dragging this out?”

“Not at all. I respect the position your in. I really do. And respectfully, I want to know the terms you’re considering because trust me, your office isn’t as tight-lipped as you think.”

“Aggravated Criminal Sexual Assault of a person with diminished capacity, multiple counts, class X felony, natural life,” Stone said, going with the most severe charge and sentence. Thinking, “ _Who does Klein think he is, telling me that my office is leaking information?_ ”

Klein smirked at Stone’s response as if it was a joke. 

“It’s better your clients take the deal I’m offering. We have enough evidence to just turn this over to the Feds. And you know, as well as I, that federal prison is no picnic,” Stone added.

“If you had enough evidence for the Feds to be involved, they’d already be involved. Drop the pretense already. Let’s try for something more reasonable, shall we? How about Criminal Sexual Assault, one count, class 1 felony, four years?”

“No. Not a chance. They’d be out in three years if they got parole. That’s not even a slap on the wrist.”

“Barrett will have lost his medical license and Kipling will have lost funding for his research. Seems like a pretty steep price to pay for engaging in a three-way.”

“Goren did not have the mental capacity to consent to any sort of sexual contact, no matter the what sort of kinky shit he or your clients might’ve been into. Therefore, Barrett and Kipling raped him, multiple times. Goren was bleeding rectally with two broken legs when they brought him to the hospital, that’s definitely not consensual. And you’re telling me your clients are paying a steep price?” Stone huffed in disbelief.

“My clients don’t want to spend the rest of their lives in prison,” replied Klein. “So if you can’t do better than your previous offer, then get out.”

“Fine,” said Stone, slightly showing his eagerness to be finished with this metaphorical hand of poker, “Aggravated Criminal Sexual Assault of a person with diminished capacity, once count, class X felony, 30 years.”

“Criminal Sexual Assault, one count, class 1 felony, and 15 years,” Klein countered.

“Aggravated Criminal Sexual Assault, class x felony, and 20 years,” Stone responded.

Taking a moment to mull it over, Klein replied, “I can live with that.”

“So we have a deal then?” Stone questioned.

“We have a deal.”

“I’ll draw up the paperwork and have it over by the end of the day,” Stone said as he stood up and re-buttoned his suit coat.

“One last thing,” said Klein.

“ _Damn it,_ ” Stone thought, “ _I’ve already agreed to the terms. I’ve shown my hand. And now the bastard is just messing with me_.”

“What?” Stone replied gruffly.

“My clients want to stay together. They do not want to be separated. That means the same facility, the same cell, the same bunk. And in a minimum security prison.”

“That’s not something I can control,” Stone responded.

“Two gay men in a prison will be immediate targets. Without each other, the won’t make it a year. They need to be together so that they can have each other’s backs.”

“They can brag about raping a cop, should win them some brownie points.”

“Since when has the prison population ever been soft on rapists. No, they stay together. Minimum security facility. Make it happen, Stone. Otherwise, you can bet your boss will be hearing how you let this deal fall through your hands. Do you think Jefferies is going to give you a gold star for that?”

Stone was tired of Klein’s intimidation tactics but didn’t see the request as entirely unreasonable. “I’m not making those requests as part of the deal but I’ll make a few calls and see what I can do,” Stone said begrudgingly as he walked out the door.


	35. Dr. Fray goes to Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Director of the Basil Institute arrives in Chicago.

As the chief of psychiatry, Doctor Charles felt like he lived at the hospital, as that was where he spent the majority of his waking hours. But last night he had slipped out early to meet with his daughter, Robin. She had flown into the city yesterday from Minneapolis so that she could attend an interview for the epidemiologist position that was open at Med. The prospect of living in the same city as his daughter thrilled Doctor Charles and her working at the hospital would mean he would get to see her frequently. Ever since he had separated from Robin’s mother, their relationship had suffered. As a consequence, they were barely involved in each others' lives anymore. If Robin moved to Chicago, then maybe he could make up for some of that lost time. 

However, leaving early last night made Charles feel guilty. As if he were abandoning his patients, particularly Goren. Charles didn't have the opportunity to speak with Lieutenant Eames and explain to her what had happened that previous morning. He left that to Dr. Reese but worried the young resident might've had some trouble communicating with such a strong and determined woman as Lt. Eames. He’d have to talk to Reese and see how the even had gone.

As Charles approached his office door, he noticed an just past middle-age African American man dressed in a three-piece suit sitting in a chair beside his door. Looking up, the man adjusted his rimless spectacles, stood up, and extended his hand out towards Dr. Charles.

“Doctor Charles, I presume,” the man declared as he shook Charles’ hand firmly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Doctor Everett Fray.”

“Oh! A pleasure to meet you,” replied Charles surprised, “oh... um... please step inside my office. You’ll have to forgive me, it’s a bit of a mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

“No need to apologize,” said Fray as he accompanied Charles into the office, looking around at the stray piles of books and papers. “Ideally I would’ve scheduled a visit like this in advance but I am under a bit of a time constraint. You see, I’m here about the victim in the Barrett/Kipling case.”

“Oh,” said Dr. Charles once more, his usual friendly disposition turning cold. Jumping to the conclusion that Dr. Fray was some sort of media commentator or consultant, Charles said, “I am not at liberty to discuss any of the patients here at the hospital. Nor do I intend on commenting on that case. So if you’re here to obtain information, then you’re out of luck.” 

“No,” Fray chuckled softly, “I am not here to acquire information. I am actually here to offer the assistance of the Institute of which I am the director.” Taking a business card from his inside jacket pocket and handing it to the befuddled physiatrist.

“The Basil Institute?” Charles said once he read the card, “You’re the director of the Basil Institute?”

“I am,” replied Fray. “I take it that you are familiar with our organization?”

“By reputation only,” said Charles. “It’s located in New York if I’m not mistaken. A for-profit mental health-care facility, that only offers services to the wealthy. Not really my cup of tea, if you don’t mind me saying. I don’t believe that the rich should get preferential treatment.”

“The founder of the institute,” Fray responded, “my dear friend, Dr. Roger Basil, believed that changing the hearts and minds of men and women within his own social sphere would do more good than if he tried influencing the lives of others outside that sphere. He would say that it was important to find opportunities to do good where you are at in life, no matter where that may be. And since we are a for-profit institution, we do not rely on government funding or subsidies. We are not constantly trying to cut costs and trim the bottom line. These means the best of facilities and equipment for our residents. We can pay for well-trained and reliable staff, with very little turnover. And we can afford to provide the latest and most advanced forms of therapeutic treatment to our patients. All this and we help to de-stigmatize the way mental health is viewed by society by making it highly valued commodity. Not a bad objective, wouldn't you say?”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one,” answered Charles. “Still, I don’t see what that has to do with the Barrett/Kipling case.”

“The victim,” replied Fray, “he’s from New York and a member of the NYPD, is he not?”

“He is but I doubt he could afford treatment at your facility, even if he were to return to New York.”

“We have a charitable endowment that would cover the cost,” replied Fray. “And we would like to extend the invitation to come and accept our offer of a free residency at the institute but…”

“But,” Charles picked up where the other doctor had left off, “you don’t know his identity. And that’s why you’re here talking to me.”

“Precisely.”

“Why him?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Why this victim?”

“He’s from New York. He’s a member of law enforcement. And the press release stated that he didn’t have any familial ties. How many options does a guy like that have? When we at the Institute heard of this man’s predicament and we felt it our moral duty to make an effort to be of assistance to one of New York’s finest. We want to help bring him home.”

Charles’s doubted the sincerity of Fray’s words but knew that Lt. Eames had been greatly concerned about Goren’s fate after his eventual discharge from the hospital. If the offer was being made, Charles felt that he should at least let her know about it.

“Alright,” replied Charles, “I’ll introduce you to the representative from the NYPD. She has the final say.”

***

When Charles found Lieutenant Eames, it was apparent that she had spent the night at the hospital. She was seated next to Goren’s hospital bed, her head resting on the edge of the mattress, her hair and clothing rumpled, Goren’s hand clasped in her own. 

“Lieutenant Eames?” called Dr. Charles softly as he entered the patient’s room.

“Hmm?” Eames responded sitting up, her eyes blurry.

“Good morning,” said Dr. Charles, “I am surprised to find you here this early but it’s probably for the best. There’s someone here that would like to speak with you.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Eames in reply, “I didn’t realize it was morning already.” She said standing up. She made to walk towards the doorway where Charles was standing but her movement was halted. Goren still had a hold of her hand and it was clear he didn’t want her to go.

“Robert,” remarked Dr. Charles, turning his attention to his patient, “I’m glad to see you looking better this morning. I hope you don’t mind me stealing Alexandra away for just a few moments. I’ll bring her back shortly, I promise.”

The patient was reluctant but he relented after a moment, releasing Eames’s hand.

Once the lieutenant had joined him outside the room, Charles asked, “Been here all night?”

“Yeah,” Eames rubbing a hand over her face, “I came to see him last night and it seemed like he was doing better. Then you weren’t here and I had a bit of a run in with your resident, which I should probably apologize for… Anyway, I just couldn’t bear to leave him all alone and uncomfortable with that tube running down his throat. So I stayed.”

“Or maybe,” Charles remarked, “this time you didn’t feel the need to run away.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“It means that you are starting to come to terms with Goren’s condition. That’s all.”

“Oh,” remarked Eames as she pondered the doctor’s comment. “I suppose you’re right.” Pausing a moment before saying, “So you said there was someone who wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” said Charles, “he’s waiting in my office. Follow me.”

As the two of them walked down the hallway, Charles asked, “Are you familiar with the Basil Institute?”

“The one in New York?” responded Eames. “Yes, actually. Matter of fact so is Bobby. They are incredibly exclusive but they do have limited philanthropic program. Quite a few years back, before she was diagnosed with lymphoma, Bobby applied to the program to see if he could get his mother transferred there. He wanted to have her closer to him. Didn’t work out though. So…. why are you bringing that place up?”

“Because,” Charles answered, “the Director of the Basil Institute is here to see you. He said he’d like to offer Goren a residency there.”

Stopping in her steps, completely stunned, Eames replied, “Please tell me this isn’t some cruel joke. Because Bobby could really use a break for once. I feel like his whole life has been one tragedy after another and this… this would be a godsend.”

Once the pair had returned to psychiatrist’s office, Eames eagerly accepted Fray’s invitation on Goren’s behalf. In Charles’s opinion, she had agreed to the arrangement far too quickly but it was her decision to make so he didn’t indicate that he had any doubts. He did, however, step outside for a moment and doubt checked that Dr. Fray’s credentials were legitimate, which, of course, they were. 

Eames came out of the office a moment later, her phone in her hand. She looked anxious. 

“I just received a message from the ADA. Looks like they might’ve reached a deal with Barrett and Kipling,” she said.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Charles asked.

“I’m not sure,” replied Eames. “I’m going to give Stone a call. Meanwhile, do you mind filling Dr. Fray in on Bobby’s condition and taking him over for a visit? I know I’ve probably got to sign some sort of HIPPA release but I’ll do that later. He’s a doctor after all so it shouldn’t be a problem to give him access to Bobby’s identity and records. I’ll be along shortly once I get done talking to the ADA.”

Charles agreed but then he was left to, somewhat begrudgingly, escort Fray to pay Goren a visit.

“ _Why does this situation make me feel so reluctant_?” Charles thought to himself even though he knew the answer. The truth of the matter was that, despite his years of treating a variety of patients and being able to stay professionally distance, this case had affected him differently. He cared for Robert deeply and did not want to relinquish his medical treatment to some unknown doctor in a far-off city. 

“So,” said Fray interrupting Charles’s thoughts, “that’s him then,” as he gestured at Goren through the glass.

“Yes,” replied Charles, “shall we go in?”

“Not yet,” answered Fray, “I’d like to take a moment and go over a few details and get my ducks all in a row before jumping into the fray, as it were.” A slight smile crossed his lips as he used the meaning of his surname to make a pun.

Charles shook off the other man’s attempts to lighten the mood. “What is it you want to know?” he asked.

“He’s terribly thin,” Fray observed, “how much weight has he lost in the two years?”

“We estimate probably about 150 pounds, we can’t be sure,” responded Charles. “But he’s light enough now that a strong adult could easily pick him up without too much difficulty.”

“And his mental status?”

“Stockholm, of course. But he’s non-verbal which indicates a dissociative state. He’s fairly proficient in sign language though, so we’ve gotten him to answer a few yes or no questions that way. And then to top it all off he’s suicidal. So needless to say, we’ve had our hands full.”

“What drugs do you have him on?”

“None.”

“What?!” Fray exclaimed in surprise, “The man just endured a horrific ordeal and you’re withholding medication?”

“He has a drug intolerance syndrome, giving him any sort of medication would cause him to have a severe allergic reaction,” Charles replied defensively. “They almost lost him in the emergency department because of it.”

“So no drugs, not even painkillers,” Fray commented in disbelief. “And you’ve done a nasogastric intubation, I see. That must be extremely uncomfortable without medication.”

“The pain from his legs probably bothers him more. Both of his tibias were fractured when they found him. So both of his legs are in casts under the blanket.”

“And what’s with the toy penguin? Was it a gift?”

“Er… Yes? Lieutenant Eames gave it to him but it’s exactly the same as the one they had found in the house with him. He’s rather attached to it, bit like a security blanket.”

“Security blanket, really? He’s a grown man.”

“Well…” responded Charles as he conveyed his uncertainty on the issue.

“Are you thinking he has regressed mentally to cope with the trauma? How very Freudian.”

“I’m not saying it is textbook regression by any means,” said Charles. “But there could be certain elements that fit the profile.”

“So what mental age do you think he’s currently functioning at?”

“Five or six, if I had to guess.”

“And Barrett and Kipling were having sex with him while he was in his present mental state.”

“The ‘specimens’ they found on him were fresh when they brought him to the hospital. So the answer to your question is a resounding yes.”

Fray breathed a heavy sigh before saying, “Makes me want to cringe just thinking about it. This is much more serious than I had anticipated. I’m going to have to do more research on the situation before I go in and talk with him. Can you get me a copy of his medical history and maybe the police report as well?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Charles. “You think you and your staff are capable of handling a case like this?”

“Please,” Fray scoffed, “our institute hasn’t become world renowned by providing sub-standard care. We’ll take good care of him, don’t you worry.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” said Charles in all seriousness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end of our Chicago days my friends...


	36. Restraint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Fray comes to speak with Bobby.
> 
> Note: A number of days have past since the events of the previous chapter.

“ _How many days had it been_?” Bobby wondered as he lay alone in his hospital room. When he was at home with his Daddies, he would count the number of times they were intimate to track the passage of time. But somewhere between the time they had first started to bring him upstairs and his second birthday, he had lost track of the exact number. He wasn’t sure entirely sure why. Maybe it was because he could tell whether it was day or night by the amount of light that filtered through the closed window blinds? But the last eight weeks, while he was grounded in the basement for cutting his hand, he had gone back to his previous method of counting time. 

“ _47 isn’t such a big number_ ,” Bobby thought. But here at the hospital, without his regular means of tracking time, he was a little lost. So much had happened in such a short amount of time that the days just ran together. At least that’s how his hospital stay had started but now something was different. Something had happened, what exactly, he had no idea. But he had plenty of time to think about it, alone in the room barely able to move and with nothing to do. 

Looking down the soft restraints, Bobby moved his arm back and forth as much as the straps would allow. If he could somehow move the end of the leather band out from underneath the metal bracket, then he could get the bracket out from notch that held it in place. Such a simple design, no locking mechanisms to try and pick, just a loop. He just needed to leverage the tip of the strap against something so to push it through the bracket. Once he got the restraint undone, he could rip the stupid tube out of his nose.

Bobby couldn’t decide which was worse, the tube that extended down the back of his throat or his legs. Granted, his legs hurt like a bitch. They ached something fierce and they were beginning to itch as the bone knit back together. But the fractured tibias were hardly his first broken bones. The pain that emanated from them was a familiar one. 

“ _But this fucking tube_ ,” Bobby though, “ _is driving me up a wall_.”

Every time he moved his head or torso ever so slightly, he could feel it move in the back of his throat. It was an extremely odd and irritating sensation. There was this constant urge to cough that he had to continually fight to suppress because coughing just jostled the tube around even more. _Ugh_. With nothing in the room to distract himself with, Bobby was left to wallow in his discomfort.

“ _They aren’t doing it on purpose_ ,” said the voice in the back of his mind. “ _This is the psychiatric ward, so there isn’t going to be anything in the rooms because they are worried about over-stimulating mental patients. So maybe take the doctors’ advice and try and get some sleep_.”

“ _The bed is too soft_ ,” Bobby murmured to himself. “ _And it’s hard to sleep because it is making my joints ache_.”

“ _If that’s how you feel then maybe you should tell someone that,_ ” responded the voice.

“ _No_ ,” thought Bobby, “ _I’m not talking_.” He knew that even if he chose to speak, that he probably would only be able to get out a few words of Latin. How would that look? A patient begins to randomly babble in a dead language and the doctors would immediately think he was insane (if they didn’t already) or worse possessed.

“ _No one is going to think you’re possessed_ ,” chided the voice.

Ignoring the voice, Bobby started to try and press the end of the leather strap against the bed railing, hoping to push it through the metal bracket. Though this action didn’t distract him from his train of thought.

“ _Besides_ ,” he rationalized to himself, “ _not talking is so much easier. No one expects me to answer difficult questions or tell them about the Daddies. This way, I can follow the Daddies’ directions and avoid all those feelings that come along with being disobedient. But then since I’m not talking, no one really talks to me. No one has told me what is going on. I think they know where the Daddies are and what has happened to them. But since I’m not talking, I can’t ask_.”

“Aaaaaah,” the noise suddenly slipped from Bobby’s lips as a painful cramp seized up the muscles in his left leg. Taking a deep breath in and slowly exhaling, he did his best to relax the muscle. A difficult task because he could not reach down and rub the knotted sinew.  It took a few very deep breaths for the pain to finally subside. _Okay, I’ve decided. Legs are worse._

His life had always been one misfortune after another. He could remember times that had been far more miserable than being immobile and in pain but that didn’t change the fact that the misery he was experiencing at this moment was threatening to overwhelm him. But the misery was compounded by the fact that he was missing his Daddies. It wasn’t something he liked to admit to himself but he had grown accustomed to their presence and, more specifically, their touch.

As a detective, Goren had had barely any time for relationships. He would preemptively end things before they really ever got a chance to begin by putting his work first and everything else second. The older he got, the less time he had for dating. And the less likely he was to actually get a date. In the year prior to coming to Chicago, he had hardly had any meaningful physical contact. So despite what he might’ve felt when their relationship first began, he had quickly been conditioned to crave his Daddies’ touch. And now, he was missing it. 

“ _Daddy, I want my Daddy. Father too. I don’t really care. I just want them to want me. And to touch me. Being separated and not knowing why is killing me._ ”

Thinking of the Daddies and the way that they liked to touch him was causing his conditioned body to have a certain biological reaction.

“ _Bobby,_ ” the internal voice warned him, “ _stop it. This is neither the time nor the place for getting aroused_.”

“ _Mmmpfff_ ,” huffed Bobby, “ _I can’t help it. It just happens_.” But he turned on his side the best he could so he could so as to obscure his erection from poking up from underneath the blanket. The last thing he needed was for Dr. Reese to come walking in and think he reacting to her and the way her breasts made the fabric on her blouse tug on the buttons that secured the edges together. 

“ _Oh fuck_!” he thought. Was he attracted to the young doctor? He hadn’t thought about a woman that way in what seemed like an eternity. Why was this happening to him now?

“ _Just chemicals in your brain_ ,” the calm voice said. “ _I know you have been conditioned to getting a bit of an endorphin/serotonin boost from engaging in certain activities but there’s no privacy here. So shut it down_.”

Bending his elbow at a certain angle, Bobby could get the toy penguin in the crook of his arm closer to his face. He bowed his head, ignoring the way the tube tugged against his throat and buried his face in Miss Alex’s fur. Breathing in lungful after lungful of the soapy scent Eames had left behind when she had washed his favorite toy, he tried to reign in his hormones. 

A few minutes later, the erection was gone but it’s presence had left Bobby feeling, for lack of a better term, slutty. A feeling that his Daddies would’ve encouraged but not something his doctors or Eames would approve of in the least. But it’s not like they didn’t already know, right? After all, he did have the word WHORE burned into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.

A light rapping sound permeated the room and Bobby turned his head towards the door to see what was causing the sound. At the door, was a tall African American male, mid to late fifties, wearing a well-tailored suit, nice shoes, and an expensive looking pair of spectacles. Bobby had seen this man a few times before, stand outside of the glass wall, usually speaking with Eames or Dr. Charles but this was the first time the man had ever come up to the door itself. 

“Detective Goren,” the man asked as he opened the door and stepped into the room. “do you mind if I come in and speak with you?”

“ _Not a good time right now_ ,” Bobby remarked silently. “ _Why don’t you come back later when I’m done berating myself for being a slutty whore_?”

This man could obviously not read minds because he grabbed a chair leaning up against the wall and brought it besides Goren’s bed and sat down. 

“I thought it best that I introduce myself,” said the man, “I am Doctor Everett Fray. Now, I’m sure you’ve met plenty of doctors recently and perhaps the idea of meeting a new one doesn’t exactly thrill you.”

Determined not to give the man an inch, Bobby kept his face as impassive as possible.

“But, you see, I’m not from Chicago,” said Fray, “I’m from New York. Where I am a director of a medical facility. I’m sure you are familiar with our establishment. It’s called the Basil Institute.

His mouth went completely dry. _The Basil Institute_! Surely not. That place was a Mecca for mental health treatment. Boasting the best doctors and the finest treatment plans. Getting in there took more money that he could earn in a lifetime. 

“I… _hummpf_ ,” Fray said clearing his throat, “I believe you once applied to our charitable endowment to see if you could acquire a residency for your mother.” As he said this he reached into his inner jacket and pulled out a few folded piece of paper. “I had my secretary pull up your application and fax me a copy of it here. It’s quite,” Fray paused for a moment as he looked over the paper in his hand, “well, it’s quite eloquent, your short composition on the reasons why your mother merited a residency. You clearly cared about her very much. But as you know schizophrenia is an entirely different ball game from…” Fray looked up and met Bobby’s eyes with his own, “… from prolonged exposure to severe trauma.”

“ _Prolonged exposure to severe trauma_?” Bobby questioned. “ _What is this guy… oh. He’s referring to me_.”

“Your former partner, Lieutenant Eames,” explained Fray, “has secured you a place at the institute. It is, of course, your decision whether or not you would like come back to New York with us. Or you can stay in Chicago and be placed in a state-run facility once your treatment here at Med has concluded. It is entirely up to you. But considering this,” Fray held up the application, “I’m inclined to believe I know your decision already.”

Bobby didn’t know how to react. There was no way in heaven or hell that Eames or even the NYPD would have the resources to send him to the Basil Institute. And what about his Daddies? He couldn’t bring himself to actually make the choice to leave them. 

“Yes or no?” asked Fray.

Wanting to respond with an answer that was neither affirming or negating, Bobby instinctively went to lift his hand to his brow to make the sign for “don’t know” but was halted by the restraint.

“Shall I undo that for the moment?” Fray asked as he reached forward to push the strap through the bracket. 

An involuntary surge of fear caused him to jerk away from the doctor. For someone who was so touch starved, Bobby certainly had an issue with letting anyone make any sort of contact.

Fray seemed unfazed by Bobby’s reaction and the doctor undid the restraint, careful not to make any skin to skin contact with the patient. Once his hand was free, Bobby made the gesture for not knowing by bringing the tips of his fingers to his forehead and then twisting his hand away. Then he looked down at his lap, not wanting to make eye contact. 

Silence filled the room as neither man spoke or moved. Eventually, Fray broke the silence.

“Do you like cars, Detective?” Fray asked.

The question was innocuous so Bobby didn’t see any harm in answering it. He made the knocking motion for ‘yes’.

“If you’ll forgive the analogy, people are like cars. And where the tires hit the road, that’s our perspective, how we view the world. Now, when our perspective is out of alignment, it makes it difficult to navigate the road ahead. Cars get out of alignment for a variety of reasons and people aren’t really any different. Given the circumstances that led you to be where you are today, it is little wonder that your perspective has come out of alignment. What we do at the Basil Institute is simply to help re-align your perspective so that you can once again safely navigate the world around you. It’s as simple as that.”

Looking at the doctor incredulously, Bobby thought about what had been said. A change of perspective, was that really all that was wrong with him? Could he really go back to living a normal life? A life without Daddies? A life without fear? A life without pain?

“I assure you, that you don’t need to worry about any of the minor details. The institute will be covering the cost of your transportation and residency. And once there, you can rely on the institute’s security team to keep you safe from prying eyes and anyone who would wish you harm. Besides Lieutenant Eames will be able to stay involved every step of the way. You know, she still refers to you as her partner, even though the two of you haven’t been partners since you were are the Major Case Squad together. She’s obviously a good friend and perhaps you should take her lead on this and consent to coming to the institute.”

Waiting until Fray finished speaking, Bobby once again made the gesture to indicate that he did not know. It honestly just sounded too good to be true. 

“What’s holding you back?” Fray asked. “I know I’m a stranger and you have no reason to trust me but believe me when I say I only want to be of assistance to you. If I may be perfectly honest, when I got here I was skeptical about whether or not you really needed to come to the institute. Thinking that another facility might better suit your needs. But being here and talking with Doctor Charles and Lieutenant Eames has assured me that you belong back in New York, back home in Brooklyn. I’m here to take you home. Is there something holding you back?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bobby answered silently by making the knocking motion. “ _My Daddies. I can’t just leave them_.”

Fray’s response was more of a low mutter that was barely audible. Bobby couldn’t quite figure out what the doctor had said but it almost sounded like the word ‘comb’. 

“You’re attending physician has specifically told me not to mention the men who hurt you,” the doctor suddenly remarked as though he had made an impulsive decision. “He fears that it will cause you to have an anxiety attack but I have a feeling that they are the reason you don’t want to leave Chicago. Am I correct?”

“ _Yes_.” *knocking motion*

“Has anyone told you what has happened to them?”

“ _No_!” *fingers tapping closed motion* “ _What has happened, please tell me_ ,” Bobby pleaded slightly, his eyes wide as he leaned in towards the visiting psychologist.

“Would you like me to tell you?”

“ _Yes_.” *knocking motion*

“Can you promise to stay calm if I do?”

“ _Yes, just tell me already_.” *knocking motion*

“They were arrested. The judge denied them bail and then after a few days in the county jail, they decided to cut a deal with the Assistant District Attorney. I don’t know all the details but I do know that they will not be getting out for a very long time. So you see, there is no point in staying in Chicago. They are out of your life for good.”

Fray was quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in.

“ _A plea deal?_ ” Bobby wondered, “ _Why would they take a plea deal? They have the DVD they made for insurance. Eames hasn’t seen it, I know that much. If she had seen it, then there’s no way she’d still be talking to me. But why wouldn’t they use it? I guess they decided not to use it because the cops must’ve had something else on them. Maybe Voight and his crew found something more incriminating? The body of that man they murdered? Perhaps that why they found me, some kid goes digging in the neighbor’s backyard and finds human remains. The next thing you know cops are searching the house and find me locked in the basement. Makes sense, I guess. But if they are gone, what happens to me? Where am I to go_?”

“Robert,” asked Fray gently, “will you come back to New York? The Institute has a room with your name on it. All you have to do is give me the go ahead.”

Taking a deep breath and letting it go slowly, Bobby curled his hand and made a knocking motion.

“Wonderful,” beamed Dr. Fray. “Now I just need to ask you a few logistical questions…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138641398@N05/25659607887/in/dateposted-public/)


	37. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby and Eames return to New York

“Do you have everything you need?” Dr. Charles asked Alex as she stood with the psychiatrist outside of Bobby’s hospital room.

“Yes,” the Lieutenant replied. “I’ve got my bag packed, the plane tickets, and both of our IDs.” 

Getting Bobby’s ID had proved to be incredibly challenging. But he couldn’t travel without one, so she had gone to great lengths to secure it. Since Goren had been assigned to a deep undercover post, he hadn’t been carrying his real ID when he was abducted. Due to the long-term assignment, he had ended the lease on his apartment and put all of his belongings in storage. Of course, once the payments on the unit stopped, the storage facility sold the contents off at auction. Eames spent a whole week trying to find the storage facility. And then it took three days to find the buyer of the unit and track him down. She had sent uniformed officers to go interrogate said buyer to see if he had recovered Goren’s IDs. Unfortunately, neither his drivers license or passport had been in the unit.

Eames remembered wanting to fling her phone against the nearest wall when the officers had reported back to her. She had everything set up and the only piece of the puzzle missing was the damn ID. If they didn’t find it, they’d be forced to drive the 13+ hours to New York. It was unlikely Bobby could handle that sort of move in his current condition. 

However, the officers noted that the buyer had also not come across Goren’s service weapon or badge. It was quite possible that those items were with his IDs in a secure location. Usually, a detective would hand those types of items over to his or her commanding officer, who in this case happened to be the former Captain Peterson. That had been a very unpleasant call to make. She had tried calling Peterson for two hours before he finally answered the phone. The lieutenant couldn’t remember ever being referred to as a ‘bitch’ that many times in a single conversation. But finally, Peterson got around to telling her that Goren had placed his gun and important documents in a safety deposit box.

A person would think that this last stop would be the easiest but the bank refused to open the box without the customer’s notarized permission. Waiving a badge hadn’t worked for the NYPD officers this time around. So Eames spent endless hours on the phone with multiple district attorneys so that one of the would go and get a warrant for the contents of the deposit box. Thankfully, inside the box were Bobby’s gun, badge, drivers license, passport, birth certificate, social security card, a few stocks and bonds certificates, paternal DNA results, and family pictures. Eames had Bobby’s ID overnighted and had packed her bags that very night. She was ready to leave Chicago.

The director of the Institute had played a vital role in figuring out the logistics of Goren’s transportation to New York. Shortly after meeting with Bobby, Fray had returned to Brooklyn where he made arrangements for the Lieutenant and Goren to fly out of a small regional airport, away from the hustle and bustle of crowds. Once the two of them landed in New York, Fray and his medical staff would meet them and escort Bobby to the institute. All Eames had to do was get Bobby to the airport, navigate security, and through a two-hour flight.

“The two of you going to be alright?” asked Dr. Charles, interrupting Eames’ unpleasant reminiscing. “Because I would be happy to tag along with you down to the airport.”

“No,” answered Eames, “but thank you. Sergeant Voight and Detective Olinsky will be driving us down and escorting us through security.”

“And you’ll be able to handle his medical issues and be sure to pass along all the necessary information to his care team in New York?”

“Haven’t you already sent off all the necessary paperwork?”

“Well, yes. But it doesn’t hurt to have a verbal confirmation.”

“Okay. I can do that. He’s no longer under strict supervision but still refuses to eat so the nasal-gastric tube needs to stay in place so that he can be fed at regular intervals. The casts on his legs can come off in a few weeks but then he’ll need to start physical therapy. What else?”

“He needs help getting back and forth from the toilet but can handle himself once he’s there. You’ll want to make sure he goes before you get on the plane.”

“Huh,” Eames snorted, “you make him sound like a toddler.”

“A toddler would be easier to manage,” Charles remarked. “Speaking of toddlers, make sure you don’t forget that stuffed penguin or he might very well have a meltdown.”

“I won’t,” Eames said with a grin. 

“Anything else we should go over before your departure?” 

“Do you think its odd,” Eames asked haphazardly, “that his hair isn’t gray anymore. At first, I just assumed they dyed it but it’s been long enough for his roots to start to show.”

“His hair was gray before?” Charles questioned.

“Salt and pepper. Not completely white but definitely noticeable.”

“That is odd, now that you mention it. Maybe mention it to Fray. See if the institute wants to run some tests.”

“Will do.”

“And Alex,” said Charles, “please keep me up to date as much as possible on his progress. I become somewhat emotionally invested in his wellbeing and I am hopefully optimistic when it comes to his recovery.”

***

It was so strange, sitting on the bed in his new clothes. Eames had picked out a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of baggy basketball shorts that could be pulled up and over the casts that encased is lower legs and feet. Despite gaining some weight, Bobby was still painfully thin and the clothing hung loosely on his frame. 

“Bobby,” Eames called as she walked into the room, a jacket over her arm, followed by Dr. Charles, “are you ready to go?”

Glancing around the room one last time, Bobby made the sign for ‘yes’. The soft restraints had come off about a week ago after Bobby repeatedly promised not to pull out the tube. “Do you promise?” Eames had asked multiple times. “ _Yes_ ,” he had signed. He hated disappointing her. But he knew that it was only her request that stayed his hand. If it had been anyone else, he might’ve not been so accommodating.

Charles grabbed a wheelchair from out in the corridor and both he and Eames helped to hoist Bobby up off the bed and down in the chair. Eames took a knee as she adjusted the leg rests and gently placed his injured limbs on them. 

“I brought a jacket for you in case you get cold,” she said as she laid the folded garment across the top of his legs. “Now, let's get going.”

“Not without this,” interrupted Dr. Charles as he picked the stuffed penguin off of the bed and set it on Bobby’s lap. Then taking hold of the handles, Charles steered the wheelchair out of the room and down the hallway to the elevators.

Voight and Olinsky were waiting just outside the hospital doors, next to a black Cadillac Escalade.

“Everything all set?” Voight asked in his gravelly tone.

“All set,” replied Eames as she walked ahead and got into the vehicle.

Charles had pushed the wheelchair about halfway to the car when Bobby suddenly reached down and grabbed both of the push rings attached to the rear wheels, halting their motion.

Surprised Charles asked, “What is it? Why have you stopped?”

Bobby didn’t respond, there were no words he could possibly say to express how he was feeling at that exact moment. He simply closed his eyes and leaned his head back, savoring the feeling of the warm sun on his face. Raising his hand ever so slightly, he traced the movement of the breeze that caressed his skin and ruffled his hair. The rush of sweet air filled his lungs as he took one deep breath and then another. 

“Looks to me like someone is simply enjoying being outside for once,” remarked the mustachioed detective.

A smile flitted across his face as Bobby wholeheartedly agreed with Detective Olinsky’s statement. Being outside was practically heaven in comparison to the dank basement or the antiseptic hospital to which he been confined to for so long.

“Well then we’ll keep the windows rolled down on our way to the airport,” interjected Voight. “But we’ve got to get going. We have a flight to catch.”

Reaching down tenderly, Charles patted Bobby on the chest reassuringly before pushing his patient the rest of the way to the vehicle. Once Bobby was in the vehicle, the psychiatrist was right there to buckle him in and make sure he and Miss Alex were comfortable.

“Now Bobby,” Charles said, “I expect New York is going to be very good to you. But if there is anything I can ever do for you, then please don’t hesitate to call.” With this last remark, Charles pulled a card from his coat and put it into one of the jacket’s pockets. 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Bobby signed as the tips of his flat hand touched his lips and then moving it forward in Charles’s direction, as he blinked away at the moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes.

“Don’t mention it,” replied Charles as he cupped Bobby’s face in his hand and brushed a stray tear away with his thumb.

“Time to hit the road,” Voight barked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Shutting the door, Charles took a step back and waved as the car disappeared down the street.

***

Navigating the small regional airport had been a smooth affair. Voight and Olinsky had escorted both Bobby and Eames directly to security, where Eames had handed the tickets and IDs to the TSA agent before they were ushered through. Right as the sergeant and detective were about to depart, Voight had leaned over and given Eames a quick peck on the cheek. She returned sentiment by giving placing her arms around Voight and giving him a squeeze.

“ _Why is she doing that_?” Bobby wondered to himself. Had something transpired between the two of them? Either way, he didn’t like it. Eames was too good for someone like Voight.

“Have a safe flight,” Voight said as he turned and walked away with Olinsky in tow.

There were hardly any other passengers in the small terminal and Bobby was glad of it. He wasn’t sure how he would react if someone had approached him and Eames. Though he did get the odd glance or two. Probably because of the medical paraphernalia and the way he was holding onto his toy penguin for dear life. Meanwhile, they sat in silence as Eames flicked through a magazine as they waiting to board. It wasn’t long before the two of them were on the plane and on their way home.

Bobby was feeling quite proud of himself as the plane touched down on the New York tarmac. He had been a very good boy for Eames. He hadn’t made a fuss or cried the entire way. And soon he would be home in Brooklyn. But would it truly feel like home, he wondered.

The director of the Basil Institute and a few members of his staff were there at the gate to greet them as they exited the plan.

“Welcome home,” Fray said with a small smile. “How was your flight?”

“Uneventful, thankfully,” replied Eames, as she brushed her hair out of her face with a flip of her head. “I’m glad to be back.”

“Well, I’m certain New York is glad to have you back,” Fray remarked. “Now, if you’ll just follow me, we’ll be on our way.”

It felt surreal, being back in New York. The city hadn’t changed in the time he’d been away. Crowds of pedestrians still stalking the sidewalks. Food carts lined the pavement. Noise permeated the air as vehicles rumbled along, the voices of hundreds of people all called out at once, construction equipment clanged, and music played from a variety of locations. And the constant smell of garbage, sweat, cigarettes, exhaust, and the hard-to-classify odors that come blasting on waves of hot air out of subway grates overwhelmed him as they drove through the city streets.

Eames reached over him and rolled up his window, saying, “I think we can do with some peace and quiet at the moment.”

Glancing over at her, Bobby felt like he should say something or communicate somehow. But what he what message could he possibly convey that would make Eames understand how he was feeling. The truth was he was numb. There was too much happening and he felt like shutting down completely instead of fighting to process it all.

By the time they arrived at the institute, Bobby had begun to tremble. He could feel the tears begin to well up. Noticing his distress, Eames tried to calm him down.

“Shhhhh,” she comforted him, “it’s okay. We’re here now. Everything is going to be alright. Deep breaths, alright? Just like Doctor Charles taught you. Okay?”

Rubbing his back for a moment and wiping the tears from his cheeks before exiting the vehicle, Bobby could hear her talking to Fray.

“He’s had a long day. It’s probably for the best that we move him up to his room right away and let him rest.”

“Of course,” Fray said and then calling out to an orderly. “Hernandez, will you run along and make sure Goren’s room is ready?”

“Right away Dr. Fray,” came the quick reply.

Bobby was once again placed in a wheelchair and Eames pushed him along as she followed Fray into the building. The lobby was large atrium with floor to ceiling windows that let in the sunlight that shone off of the polished marble floor. On the left was a raised counter with the institute’s logo etched in gold along the wooden paneling. On the right was a sitting area with an ornate rug upon which rested a few pieces of upholstered furniture, a coffee table, and end tables. There were also exquisite floral arrangements on both the tables and the counter to the left. Looking up, Bobby could see each of the four levels of the building connected together by a long winding staircase, each with a terrace that opened out onto the atrium. Directly in front of him was a larger than life portrait of a older gentleman with a round face, hooded bright gray eyes, and a sporting a full gray goatee. A plaque below read: In Loving Memory of Roger Basil, 1929-2006.

“Elevator is this way,” Fray said as he escorted them past the sitting area, below the staircase, and down a hallway. Along the way, Eames was exchanging friendly remarks with Fray about how nice the facility was and how kind the institute had been to extend a residency. Congenial as ever, Fray was very demure in his responses. But Bobby was too fatigued to even listen.

Once they go to the room, an orderly was there to assist with moving the patient onto the bed. Bobby was too tired to even bother looking around his surrounds. He just curled up on the bed and closed his eyes.

“Bobby?” Eames asked, “Are you going to be alright?”

Brushing off Alex’s attempts at communication, Bobby didn’t bother to respond.

“Okay then,” she said as she brushed Bobby’s slight curls off of his forehead, “I’ll be going then. But I’ll be back soon.” 

Before standing up to leave the room, Eames took a moment to bend down and give Bobby just the slightest of kisses on his brow. She then turned and left him alone in his new room with no one else to keep him company besides his beloved penguin, Miss Alex. 

***

Two days later, Bobby sat in the building’s courtyard with Miss Alex in his lap. This was so far his favorite place in the whole institute. Surrounded on all sides by steep walls that blocked out the sound of the city beyond, the yard was filled with all sorts of pleasant smelling greenery and water features like an artificial brook that fed into a small pond. The staff here referred to it as the garden, like someone might do if they were British instead of American. Maybe the founder had called it a garden and the term had just stuck, Basil was a common British surname after all. 

The institute was being very careful with Bobby, he could tell. He’d only met a few of the employees and had yet to be introduced to the rest of the resident population. Fray had mentioned something about wanting to make the transition gradual so to cause Bobby the least amount of stress. And then there was the fact that someone checked on him every 15 minutes so it was clear that they didn’t trust him to be alone. Running his thumb along the scars on his wrists, Bobby wondered if he could trust himself to be alone. Feelings of doubt fleeted through his mind when smidge of apprehension suddenly appeared. 

“ _Where is that coming from_?” he asked himself but had no time to dwell on the thought because steps coming down the pathway distracted him.

Looking up, Bobby spied Dr. Fray coming down the pathway, accompanied by a young woman.

“Ah, Detective Goren,” said Fray, “how are you doing today? I hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought along someone who wanted to welcome you to the institute. Allow me to introduce the institute’s proprietor and our founder’s granddaughter, Miss Katherine Elizabeth Basil.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the young woman said audaciously as a slight smile crossed her lips, a dimple appearing on her left cheek. Her strikingly blue eyes glimmering as she tucked a lock of long brown hair behind her ear.


	38. Appendix

The story continues on in the next part of the series, [Temperamental Sanctuary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968750).


End file.
